


The Taste Of Bitter Resolve

by Cherrypie62666



Series: Random unfitting one shots and stories [7]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, I Promise It's Not So Bad As I Make It Sound, I promise, Implied Sexual Activity, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, It isn't graphic, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Mostly just sad, Nico Is A Snarky Shit, Read world AU, Slightly graphic, Smoking, The bad stuff only happens once, Will Protects Nico, Will Radiates Perfection, but I promise it's true, gets a little dark, i said that, solangelo, the ending is happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrypie62666/pseuds/Cherrypie62666
Summary: Taking another slow pull off his smoke, he released it out in a swirl of grey that danced higher into the air, until it spread so thin it disappeared.  “Twenty bucks,” he murmured, flicking the half-finished butt onto the ground in an explosion of red embers.  His booted foot stomped it out, unable to ignore the threat of starting a small fire.The boy appeared to frown slightly, worrying a delicate pink lip between his teeth.  “I’m sorry, what?”  His voice was like liquid sunshine, warm to the point of stifling, bright and cheerful and kind.Nico’s dark eyes flicked over, assessing the other critically before responding.  If he was all dark looks and sharp angles, this guy was somehow the exact opposite.  Golden and bright, with soft features and bronze skin.  Even his crystal eyes shimmered like pools of liquid blue light, an unmistakable warmth radiating just beneath the surface.  “Alright, ten, but only because I’m feeling generous.”





	1. The Taste Of Shame

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, sometimes I wax poetic, and I couldn't get that poetry out any other way, so I decided to write something different to embody that. Nowhere close to my usual writings, I needed this to be dark in a way that wasn't riddled with death or unbelievable sadness.  
> I chose to turn it into a multi chapter (small, I hope!) fic over one long one, just to give myself a little time to map out where I'm headed.  
> This was just a small idea that blossomed steadily, and I need a little time to see how it'll develop.

The taste of scotch left a bitter sting on his tongue, but he threw it back with unspeakable grace, fluid motions beautiful and charming.  The hint of a smile curled the edge of his full lips, black eyes dancing with an insatiable hunger.  Stroking one finger slowly down the other man's arm, he bit those lips coyly, leaning in suggestively, cocking his head just so.  It worked, much the same it had each time before, much the way it would continue to after.  The man paid their tab and grabbed his hand, pulling him out into the chilly night air.

Pressed up against the hard brick wall, he closed his eyes, erasing the look of animalistic desire from his memory, the one that swam behind a glossed over gaze and made him feel like the piece of skin he let himself be.  He closed his eyes, losing himself in thoughts as he ignored the disgusting feeling of hands exploring his body, too warm and slick with sweat.  Those ones that groped and prodded his flesh, running down sides and up thighs, raking and scraping and kneading; all the while, appreciative words breathed sticky wet against the shell of his ear.

“So beautiful, so perfect,” they murmured, tinged with the acrid scent of booze and something stale, possibly cigarettes.

He closed his eyes and held back the urge to squirm, as sloppy wet lips pushed far too hard against his mouth, nipping, and scraping, and sucking greedily.  He closed his eyes and allowed the sweaty fingers to worm their way down his torso to undo his pants, flinching more against the feeling of being touched than he was from the cold air that sent gooseflesh up his skin. 

He closed his eyes and imagined he was somewhere else; even as he found himself flipped around and pushed face first into the cold wall, scratching at his cheek and chin painfully, allowing yet another person to take a piece of him he didn’t even know was there.  And like all things, he did it with grace, bending to another’s will, never letting the painted smile slip from its place; ever the actor, ever the perfect conquest.

Afterward, when he found himself alone, leaning back against that very same wall, pulling hard on the cigarette pinched just so between the pointer and middle finger of his left hand; the thing he tasted most was bitter contempt.  For himself or for the man, he wasn’t sure.  In the end, it all tasted like failure.

* * *

 

Nico found himself there, night after night, sitting at the bar, waiting for the next round of drinks to turn into fumbling fingers, sloppy kisses, and the rancid breath that stroked the side of his face as a chorus of single-sided moans pierced the night.  He found himself there, sitting upon the cracked leather seat of the lopsided stool, sipping his self-loathing away with vodka martinis, extra dry, three olives; watching the less broken people do and say and feel all the things he never could.

A man sat down to his right, handsome looking and well dressed, with laugh lines next to his hollow blue eyes and a light dusting of stubble on his tan skinned face.  His hair was dark, his nose strong; high cheekbones and a sultry laugh.  He smiled confidently, white teeth perfect and straight, save for a tiny chip between the top front ones, which only seemed to add character than detract it.

“Can I buy you a drink,” he asked, voice deep and gravelly, like the crackle of tires over a rock-lined driveway, the subtle pops and dips whirring up to assault his ears.

Dark eyes scanned appraisingly, twirling the skewered olive slowly between his lips.  “Sure,” he purred back, catching the way those hollow eyes grew hungry at his subtle attempt at seduction.  “Whatever you want is fine with me.”

The man waved down the bartender, getting two double shots of expensive whiskey.  They knocked them back, the older man spluttering, the younger one smiling.  “What’s your name,” he asked, after the fire in their throats dulled to a slight tickle, after the alcohol took effect, loosening lips and making him bolder.

“Nico,” he offered truthfully, chasing the last drop of liquid with his finger as it made its way down the side of the glass.  It wouldn’t matter anyway. No one came back after the first time, and he never cared enough to tell a lie.

Swirling the toothpick in his martini, he watched the clear liquid ripple around, dancing in a twirl of shimmering fluidity.  A hand found its way to his thigh, thick fingers strong as they squeezed the muscle, rubbing delicate circles into his flesh. 

“So, how about another drink, then, Nico?”

Flicking his gaze to the other’s face, Nico read the underlying messages etched deep into his skin. _I want you.  You’re beautiful.  Dark.  Exotic.  Perfect._ Swiping a hand through his thick hair, he slid it down the extent of his body, slowly, sensually, landing lightly on the one still cupping his leg.

“Alright,” he murmured, tracing a soft pattern along the rough skin, enticing and appealing, saying just enough, never too much.

A wicked grin turned the handsome face wolfish, and he wondered briefly if beneath all lovely things darkness rippled just out of sight.  “Bartender, two more, please,” was his cry of passion, and it was met with a firm nod and filled glasses.

Whiskey was the exact same as scotch, though why they dressed it up and gave it another name was anyone’s guess.  The initial bite had subsided after the first double, so the second went down with unbelievable smoothness, tickling his throat, numbing his senses.  Warmth spread outward across his chest, and he set the glass down gently, leaning forward slightly as he pulled the corner of his lip between his teeth, heavy-lidded eyes sparkling in the falsely cheerful orange glow of atmospheric ambiance.

Blue eyes turned glassy with lust, tan skin turning pink with the warmth from the booze working its way through his system.  Lightweights were the easiest prey.  If he finished quickly, he might even come back and enjoy his drink after.

“So, what do you say about getting out of here, and going somewhere a little more… private?”  The man posed the question like a love poem, even though Nico knew love wasn’t supposed to be that stale in his mouth.

“Sorry, but it’s fifty for the night,” he breathed, words soft like a sigh, cocking his head just right, exposing the length of his neck.

The man’s eyebrows shot up slightly, before they sank low, frowning out his contemplation.

Bringing long fingers up to rest delicately on the hard-muscled arm, he stroked the length of the bicep, parting his lips just enough to look inviting.  “That’s whatever you want, as long as you’d like.  Twenty, and I know a good place for fifteen minutes.”

The hungry look returned, and the man paid the bill. 

The brick wall around the back was always empty, the streetlights shining down never quite reaching to the edges where Nico found himself pressed against its hard surface once more, closing his eyes to forget.  

He forgot the feeling of more hands raking down the topmost layers of skin, always too warm, always sweaty, never soft as they could be, never tender in touch.  He forgot the way the hungry mouth devoured pieces of him, bit by bit, tasting and nipping and grazing with teeth and tongue.  He forgot what it was to feel entirely, numbness sinking deeper into his being with each lengthy second.

And when it was over, the man didn’t bother saying thanks, and it wasn’t asked in return; just the degrading feeling of money slipped into his hand, and the sight of broad shoulders walking away into the night.

He’d stay there, leaning back against the cold brick, staring up into the wide expanse of sky; and as the puffs of vapor left his lips, he’d piece himself back together, wondering how it was he still had something left to take, how he wasn’t complete hollowed out by now.

Thank you was overrated anyhow, he didn’t do anything of merit, just remained stock-still, allowing it to build and then subside.  It was never for the praise, never for more than the shock of pain; a subtle reminder that he could feel something, even if it wasn’t on an emotional level.

He stayed that way, blending into the shadows, becoming one with the dark.  It was a fitting place to be, detached, alone, in the quiet hum of nightlife, with a view of the infinite sky; leaning up against the hard brick, choosing the cold emptiness over another’s warmth.

A door opened to his left, stream of light stretching outward and landing on the edge of his boot.  He ignored the sound of metal screeching on old hinges, preferring to take a slow drag off his freshly lit cigarette, staring out into the inky blackness beyond.  He wasn’t worthy of noticing most of the time, so why bother paying attention to something fleeting like a shared look and plastic smile.

Feet padded their way to his side, and his eyes slipped sideways, registering the familiar golden hue of the sometimes bartender, sometimes busboy. 

A white collared shirt was tucked into black slacks, a dirty black apron thrown over the top, tied around the middle of his back, reaching up around his neck.  Soft blue eyes twinkled in the dim light, searching for something he wasn’t positive he could give.

Taking another slow pull off his smoke, he released it out in a swirl of grey that danced higher into the air, until it spread so thin it disappeared.  “Twenty bucks,” he murmured, flicking the half-finished butt onto the ground in an explosion of red embers.  His booted foot stomped it out, unable to ignore the threat of starting a small fire.

The boy appeared to frown slightly, worrying a delicate pink lip between his teeth.  “I’m sorry, what?”  His voice was like liquid sunshine, warm to the point of stifling, bright and cheerful and kind.

Nico’s dark eyes flicked over, assessing the other critically before responding.  If he was all dark looks and sharp angles, this guy was somehow the exact opposite.  Golden and bright, with soft features and bronze skin.  Even his crystal eyes shimmered like pools of liquid blue light, an unmistakable warmth radiating just beneath the surface.  “Alright, ten, but only because I’m feeling generous.”

A ripple of emotions danced across those eyes before realization seemed to dawn.  “Oh, no.  I mean, no thank you.  I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

The sound that escaped his throat was neither a laugh, nor a growl, but somewhere comfortably in-between.  It was like a predatory animal; the high trill of complete surprise mixed with the low thrum of disbelief.  Kicking off the wall, he spared one last glance before turning his back and walking away.

“Okay,” he tasted the word on his lips, unfamiliar and sour and hinted with regret.  He wasn’t even sure he knew what that word meant, let alone what it felt like; but this, it probably wasn’t it.  Another drink would wash away this flavor, soothe this choking sensation in his throat. 

Another drink, to ebb the pain of losing another fraction of a piece that still made him strangely whole, but completely shattered.

* * *

 

“Another martini,” he asked, warmth and kindness flowing off of his body in rippling waves.

Nico glanced up from his empty glass, taking in the sparkle of blue and how they shined even brighter in the orange light.  Placing a cigarette between his teeth, he held it there, contemplating the question.

The match struck, low pop then soft roar of fibers combusting into flame as they grazed along the rough surface of the paper, friction creating a minuscule spark.  He held it up questioningly, flame dancing along the stick, shrinking and growing, swaying and flickering in the gentle breeze from his lips.

Nico leaned in, allowing the edge of paper to kiss the fire, igniting the cigarette in a swirl and crackle of sights and sounds.  He pulled long and slow, drawing the fumes into his mouth, down, through his lungs, releasing them with a sigh.  “Sure, why not,” he mumbled, lifting the empty glass for the other to take.

Fingers grazed, a spark of electricity making him pull back, all too quickly; a chorus of shrill cries rising up from the shards of broken glass now littering the bar and floor.

Dark eyes lowered from the sight, resting on his fingertips; flexing the offending hand, wondering at the strange sensation.

“Sorry about that, I’m far too clumsy sometimes.”  His voice was smooth and soft, like the calm churning of ocean waves lapping the shoreline in a gentle caress.  The sound rose and fell much the same, washing over Nico, serene and quiescent.

Stubbing out the remainder of cigarette in a plastic ashtray, he perched his chin on the edge of his curled fist, scanning over the mess in somber assessment.  “That’s okay, no harm done.”

A warm smile curled the other's full lips, eyes crinkling slightly in the corners.  He got to work, pouring clear liquid into a metal cup filled with ice, shaking it softly, then filling the new glass.  Handing it over, he smiled once more.  “Vodka martini, extra dry, three olives.  On the house, because of the mess.”

Picking up the toothpick, he placed the first olive between his teeth, pulling the stick slowly out of the impaled fruit.  “Much obliged,” he breathed, plopping the thing back into his cup.  Liquid dribbled over the edges of glass, but he ignored the waste.  It was free, anyhow.

“What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking.”  The boy seemed to shrink back slightly, embarrassment flushing his tanned cheeks.  His gaze dropped down to the floor, feet shifting the weight of his body from side to side.

“Why,” Nico asked, curious as to the answer, though not entirely sure about the intent. 

Blue eyes shot back up, blinking rapidly for a moment before a slight tug pulled one side of his mouth.  “You come in here enough, I figured it’s polite to ask.”

“Liar,” he smirked, leaning forward teasingly, enjoying the wash of color that painted the other’s skin.  Unfurling his fist, he strummed fingers against his chin in mock contemplation, sliding his gaze downward, then back up slowly.  “It’s Nico,” he finally admitting, sitting up a little straighter in his seat.

“I’m Will,” the other offered, smiling so bright it stung his retinas.

“William, or Will?”

“Just Will,” he replied.

Nico took a slow sip of his drink, feeling the hot sting of alcohol burn down his throat.  “Alright, Just Will,” he murmured softly, raising the glass up in salute.  “Thanks for the drink.”  Swiveling the chair, he slipped off, sauntering away with a slow swish of his hips.

* * *

 

It flowed in a pattern of small talks and awkward stares, dipping just below the surface, never intrusive, always with a smile.  He’d come into the bar, sit down, waiting for someone to approach him.  After a few drinks, some mild innuendos, a couple of forced laughs, they’d drag him outside, slipping quietly into dark shadows, disturbing the tranquility for moments at a time.  Then he’d watch them go, silent and small, before wandering back inside, greeted with a fresh martini and a kind pair of eyes.

Will never asked, so he never divulged.  It was obvious, what it was he allowed people to draw him away for; but even still, the sparkling blue gaze never probed too deeply, or regarded him with an ounce of pity.

That was almost worse, a hollow ache seeping deep into his chest, unused to being looked at so softly; like an actual person, not just a beautiful piece of art.  Hands shook whenever the other spoke with him, so he hid them out of sight, maintaining the air of aloofness he’d built up over the years to wrap himself inside of, protective and cold and dark.

As far back as he could remember, not a single human being treated him as kindly as this stranger did; with a warm smile or a gentle laugh, never asking for more than acknowledgment in return.

Even in the throes of passion, the ones he didn’t ask payment for, eyes always seemed to look straight through him, hands gripping too hard, possessive and depleting and nocuous.  He was nothing more than an object, never worth more than the effort it took to woo; so he became the thing they wished of him, a mirror reflection of a person, tangible to touch, but cold and smooth as glass.

He sat on his stool, sipping his martini, wondering what it was that made this one so different from the rest.  Why someone would dare to look past his facade, to meet him somewhere in-between real human and work of art, and smile so softly, so gently, that he forgot for a moment just how empty he'd become.

A broken-looking man with hard eyes and an empty smile sat beside him, and so, his exotic dance began again.  They talked, he laughed, the man touched, he played coy, they drank, he allowed the sweet sting to dull his mind; and then, after their third round of whatever the fuck a ‘kick in the balls’ was, they left, the man tugging him happily out into the cold autumn night.

Fingers tingled as he made his way down the side of the building, drawing the stranger along at a leisurely pace.  The world around him swayed and rippled, blinking fast to fight back the sudden wave of lightheadedness that overcame him. 

Arms became putty at his sides, heart slowing to a dull isochronal thump in his chest.  All sense of balance was lost, stumbling hard and slumping down against the cold, hard building.

His vision dimmed, breath coming in sluggish, raspy gasps.  Hands scrambled to pull himself upright, pawing at the wall that cut small lacerations into his soft flesh.

“That was fast.”  The voice trickled in through the fog, far away and sickeningly close; the sharp scent of liquor enveloping his nose, choking him, making him want to vomit.

All at once, he was lifted high and shoved forcefully against the expanse of building, the bloom of pain rippling across his skull from where it connected with unyielding brick.  Head lolled awkwardly to the side, chin dipping forward toward his chest.

In the blur of images that swam before him, he made out the stark white glow of fanged teeth, pulled into a grotesque semblance of a Cheshire smile.  Blinking back the weight of his drooping lids, he whimpered a soft cry, starting low in his belly, struggling to make it out of his steadily closing throat.

The unmistakable sound of zipper opening pierced the night, swirling up to meet him in a wave of terror.  It didn’t take much to understand what was happening, he’d been privy to similar situations in the past.  What shocked him the most, chipped away at the delicate surface of his mind, was that it wasn’t even necessary to begin with; and yet here he was, backed up into a corner, unable to defend himself or even utter a cry for help.

A grunt of dissatisfaction sounded close by, followed by the hard yank of his chin, forcing his head back into the wall once more.

“What’s the matter, don’t like it rough,” the noxious scent wafted up all around him.  “Fine, if you won’t enjoy it, I’ll have fun without you.”

Knees met concrete, pain shooting up his spine.  Fingers twisted roughly into his hair, keeping him semi-upright, even as his body sagged toward the ground.  The press of calloused hands worked at his jaw, pulling it apart, forcing it to open wide.

He choked hard on the feel of something slipping across his tongue, back into his throat, blocking up his airway.  Every instinct said to bite, every nerve ending yearning to fight back.  All he could do is whimper and pray, whimper and hope, whimper and accept.

In a flash it was all ripped away, the feeling in his mouth, the tug in his hair.  The weight of his body sagged against the cool surface of wall, spluttering and coughing and choking on oxygen, burning through his lungs, happy for the relief.

Gentle hands caressed the sides of his face, drawing focus up to land on soft blue eyes.  Gingerly, they touched the scrape on his cheek, thumbs coming up to wipe away the wetness pooling beneath his lids. 

“It’s okay now,” he murmured, voice a calming energy sinking deep into his bones.  At that moment, Nico never believed something as much as he believed those words.  “You’re going to be okay.”

Strong arms lifted him delicately, wrapping him up in a warm embrace.  He floated, completely weightless, lulled into a half-awake state by the soft rocking steps that took him away from that terrible place, anyway from that horrible nightmare.

Even as he was set down into the passenger seat of an unfamiliar vehicle, he felt the waves of reassurance rolling off the other, coating him like a thin film of wax.  Cocooned in that soft feeling, he allowed his eyes to slip shut, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and sunlight, fading into the quiet bliss of sleep.

* * *

 

His mind faded in and out of focus, watching as gentle hands blotted at his fevered skin with cooled rags, or smeared salves of pungent smelling ointments that stung at his wounds, before numbing the sore flesh.  His ears picked up the soft trickle of soothing words, illegible, but still comforting in their whispered dialogue, blanketing him in waves of heavenly, serene warmth.

When his limbs began to respond once more from their state of perpetual flaccidity, he caught the hand moving toward his face, holding it feebly up, inspecting the way long fingers relaxed against his own, placid, docile, genuine. 

The palms of his hands stung from where they'd kissed the unforgiving brick, but he ignored the pain, so much like the sting he felt that pulsated throughout his chest, ever rippling, ever judging him for his carelessness; and instead, he focused on the subtle differences in skin composition, the changes in texture, the feeling of warmth.

Eyes regarded him gently, lit up from within by unwavering beneficence; crystal clear and endlessly deep.  They spoke volumes without utterance, gave compassion without pity, were scrupulous without suffocating.

He gazed back, dumbstruck, unnerved by the sheer humanity he saw reflected back at him, the utter sincerity and consideration for his personal wellbeing.

“How are you feeling?”  The worlds left Will’s lips like a soft sigh, hand still floating delicately in Nico’s weakened grip.

Swallowing down the foul taste of shame that coated his tongue, he tried and failed to maintain his usual unfazed disposition.  It was clear from the way his jaw quivered when he parted his lips to speak that he was shaken, and broken down beyond repair.  “I’m good.”  The lie reverberated across the distance between them, echoing loudly in his ears.

A reassuring smile graced the other’s face.  “Can I get you anything?  Water, perhaps?”

He shook his head, fearful of what other insecurities and faults would slip from his mouth should he speak words aloud.  It was quite clear with two of them just how empty he had become, he didn’t need to fade into nothingness just to prove a falsified point.

The hand in his slackened grip squeezed imperceptibly, offering a sudden rush of comfort that shot through his arms, straight to his heart.  A whimpering sound emanated from somewhere inside of his throat, clawing its way out before his teeth could hold it back.

He released the offensive thing before it could damage him more, struggling and failing to worm his way further up into a fully vertical position upon the couch.  Hands tried to help, but he snarled like a scared dog; impossibly deadly in its cornered state.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to help.”  The words pierced through his chest, vibrating around his ribcage, before seeping into his lungs, filling them with a strange heaviness.

He let it out in a shaky, hollow laugh; so much different from the one he used as a mask, light and breezy and perfectly composed.  It hurt, like fire in his veins, hearing the sincerity behind each new sentence, knowing how little he deserved it.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t.  I’m not worth your misplaced kindness.”  Swiping the sweat from his brow, he winced at the pain caused when his fingers met something sticky and wet.  Pulling them back, he found them coated with clear substance, little flakes of dried blood flecked throughout. 

“Kindness is never misplaced,” Will murmured, sounding strangely sorrowful considering the context.

Nico barked another cruel laugh, feeling the way it contorted his face into a sneer.  “What are you, a fucking Hallmark card or something?”

Blue eyes refused to waver, emanating warmth and calm and unyielding kindness.  A smile quirked his lips, amused hum sounding low in his throat.  “I just happen to think everyone is deserving of a little empathy.  I’m sure you are no different.”

“You don’t even know me,” he replied, voice tight and bitter.

“I know enough,” Will shrugged.

Nico laughed again, bubbly and airy and light.  Drawing his knees closer to his chest, he tilted his head, wrapping slightly numb arms around them.  “Do tell,” he goaded, intrigued by the absurdity of the situation.  He was a mirror, no one knew him.  He reflected back only what others needed to see; nothing more, nothing less.

Will released a long breath of air, almost like a sigh.  “Well,” he began, shifting back to rest his body in the crook of the opposite end of the couch.  “I know you’re troubled, even though you act like nothing can touch you.  I know you’re a little lost, even as you pretend you’re present in the here and now.  I know you’re fractured, though you fake that you’re whole.  And I know that you think you’re undeserving of kindness, though you’re probably more deserving than most.”

“And I suppose you think you’re correct because…”

“Your actions, and a little reading between the lines.  I know you’re strong, too, if that helps.  Stronger than I could ever be.  Stronger than most people.”

Splaying out his legs, his bare feet brushed gently against the warm skin of the other’s leg.  “I don’t honestly know what I am.  A little of everything I suppose.  Maybe less.”

Will hummed in contemplation, tapping a finger to his chin.  “I don’t think very many people do, so you’re not alone, there.”  He offered another warm smile, one that sank into Nico’s skin.

Averting his eyes, he chose to stare somewhere less complicated.  “What time is it, anyway,” he wondered aloud, changing the topic to safer subjects.

As if in response, Will yawned.  “Probably pretty late,” he admitted, the sickening smile evident in his voice.

“I should probably go,” Nico mumbled.

“Like Hell you are, you’re staying put until I know those drugs are out of your system.  It’s only been a few hours, so you should sleep some.  You’re welcome to the couch or to the bed, take your pick.”

For the first time, he glanced around the small room.  The bed in question was feet away, large enough for two, should it come down to it.  The couch was hard, digging into his back, but he ignored the pain.  “Couch is fine,” he replied.

“Are you certain?”

Nico allowed his face to soften, smiling in a manner he knew was hard to resist.  “If you really want to share a bed with me, you could just ask.”

Will clucked his tongue.  “I’m not interested in paying for sex.”

“I wouldn’t charge… much.”

Leaning forward, Will brought his hand up slowly, gauging the reaction with hesitancy, before resting it gently upon his cheek.  Fire burned hot waves into his face, but he didn’t flinch, too enthralled by the calm blue eyes that shimmered softly in the dim light.

“Nico, I would never take advantage of you when you’re in such a state.  I’m not a monster.”

“Who says you’d be the one taking advantage,” he joked, though his voice lacked the conviction he meant it to.

Will smiled, radiating warmth.  He slipped closer until the other’s legs were forced to move over his lap, stopping when his thigh brushed the underside of Nico’s.  Tilting forward, he merged their foreheads together gently, closing his eyes.  “I do.”

Warm breath tickled his cheeks, salty and sweet and satisfying.  He tried to pull away, willed limbs to move and shove and escape, but they felt as if he’d fallen into a vat of honey, sluggish and slow and suspended.  Every fiber of his being cried out to submit, give in, relax; but anxiety won out, and he flinched so hard their heads knocked, breaking the strange spell, allowing him freedom of motion once more.

“Sorry,” Will apologized as if he was somehow the culprit. 

It only made the erratic thrum in his chest begin to palpitate wildly, causing a wave of panic to assault him, barraging from every angle.

“I really should…” he began, but the remaining words stuck in his throat, garbled and useless and utterly pathetic.

“Please stay.  I won’t touch you if that’s what you’re concerned about.”  To prove his point, he shifted away, rising to his feet in one fluid motion.

Despite the strange sensations flooding his body, Nico laughed outright, stuffing them down until they threatened to crack.  “Do you think I care if you touch me,” he asked, voice laced with soft amusement.

Will’s eyes assessed him critically, probing intrusively, invading his soul.  “I do, yes,” he finally admitted.

Rising up on shaking legs, he forced himself across the small distance, slipping hands up Will’s firm stomach and chest, touching sensually, past the flaming skin of his throat, into soft, luxurious hair.  Parting his lips, he drew the other down slowly, pressing bodies together, feeling the heat roll off him in dizzying waves. 

When their mouths met, arms encircled him nicely, drawing him up in a gentle sort of embrace.  He had meant it to be fire and passion, intoxicating and erotic and dripping with sex appeal, but it had morphed into something else, something softer, something safe.

Teeth grazed his lip, requesting entrance to his mouth, and he allowed it, knees buckling under the feel of Will’s warm exploration of his being.  All at once it became too much, and he pushed back, gasping for air with stuttering lungs, wiping the kiss from his lips with the back of his hand.

“What the fuck was that,” he wheezed, allowing anger to replace the fear coiling itself tightly in his belly.

Will’s blue eyes danced with waves of raw emotions, bronze skin flushed with the faintest of pink.  “You’re the expert.  You tell me.”

“That’s how you’d kiss your mother,” he drawled, feigning composure he seriously lacked.  He steadied his breathing, straightened his spine, ever the picture of equanimity.

Will chuckled, the sound rich and smooth.  “I didn’t realize you kissed your mother with tongue,” he teased, raking a hand through golden hair.

A slow smirk spread like wildfire across his lips, tilting his head gently to the side.  “Alright, I’ll stay.  But only if you take the couch.”


	2. A Smooth Burn Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shock of sparkling blue flickered annoyingly across his mind, making his jaw clench in anger before he gave a stiff nod, unable to offer himself up as freely as he normally did. 
> 
> The man in the seat barely even registered the waves of uncertainty rolling off his body, toxic and choking; dense and black and uninviting.
> 
> Instead, he smiled at Nico with barely contained lust. “What’ll it be, then? Another martini?”
> 
> Lips parted, and he swore he heard them groan in protest. “Whatever you want, I’m game for anything,” he murmured back. The usual flirty tone he used sounded rusted and strange, the innuendo slipping past his teeth with lackluster conviction. He shook his head to rid it of fog, thankful the other was too busy placing a drink order to notice his abnormal hesitancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less long that that behemoth of a first chapter; which was a fluke, as I don't normally write so much, but I was resigned to make one long singular fic, then decided against it. Unable to find a good break, I just posted the whole thing.

Sunlight spilled into the room, the warm rays kissing his face softly as he rolled over on the fluffy bed.  Fingers curled into the sheet, feeling the smooth texture of cotton brush past his skin, wondering why it felt so much better than usual, so much nicer than he remembered.

Peeking an eye open, he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, trickles of memory slipping through his mind at snail-like pace.  All at once the floodgate opened and he shot up with a start, wincing at the pain it caused to ravage throughout his body. 

Nausea churned his gut, low groan emanating from somewhere deep in his throat.  His head throbbed with the force of a jackhammer; pulsating in time with the fluttering beat of his heart, digging its way into the place just behind his eyes. 

An ache rippled down his back, long and slow, knees burning hot beneath the crisp sheet.  The sting in his palms caused his hands to shake slightly as they worked their way along his flesh, checking the damage with deft touches. 

At least nothing automatically made him whimper, that had to be a good sign.

Throwing legs over the side of the bed, he struggled to stand, feeling a sharp sensation rip through both hips, zigzagging up his spine.  His jaw clenched against the urge to cry out, fingers curling up into tight fists, pressed so hard they left new marks on the marred surface of both palms. 

All at once, it ebbed, allowing fluidity of motion once more.

Bare feet padded across the small room, making their way to the only place that could possibly be a bathroom, directly located behind a small kitchenette.  Flicking on the switch, a soft yellow glow flooded the tiny interior, casting his reflection in the large mirror in a sickly pale light. 

Dark crescents encircled his swollen obsidian eyes; shaggy mane a disarray of tangles, littered with bits of dead leaves and old grass.  His left temple housed a lovely green contusion that blossomed up into his hairline, dried blood caked over a single plum colored gash.

Lips were chapped, cracked, and peeling; skin lacking its usual sheen.  He was more haggard than the last time he'd caught his own gaze in a mirror, but the sharp quality of his features still left him appealing; the curve of his mouth still begging to be kissed.  If he had to sustain damage anywhere on his person, he was grateful it wasn’t so horrible as to ruin his pretty face.

The light burned a little too brightly, hurting his retinas, so he swatted it off, watching the shadows that greedily consumed him.  He looked better in the dark, more exotic, more seductive, less real.  Scanning the reflection one last time, a smirk quirked one side of his mouth, before he ducked back out of the little room.

The golden boy slept soundly upon the long couch; knees bent slightly, arm curled beneath a thin white pillow.  The attached hand reappeared on the other side, hanging limply, fingers lightly brushing the silken strands of his hair.

Long dark lashes splayed over closed lids, full pink lips parted gently as he breathed in and out of his mouth in whispering sighs.  Sunlight streamed through a large window and caught the bronze glow of his skin, making it burn so intensely it was hard to look away.

When Nico had made the deal, he had expected the other to give up and join him in the bed at some point, sure that the temptation would prove too alluring.  Either of himself or the soft bed, he couldn’t bring himself to care, but it was surprising in an odd way that the promise was kept.

The terrible ache in his own back from laying upon the couch was a subtle reminder of just how awful it must feel right now, but Will slept quietly, completely unfazed by the predicament he most assuredly was in.

A dull twinge of some strange emotion twisted inside of his stomach, leaving a bad taste to dance across his taste buds.  He should probably go; before the other awoke, before it became hard to explain the sudden urge to flee fast and far before he lost the nerve and succumbed to fleeting desires.

Legs glued him to the spot for a few seconds longer, taking in the sight of peaceful slumber, uninhibited by torturous dreams, unencumbered by cramped space.  How wonderful it must be, to sleep so easily, to look so tranquil, even while his body was probably riddled with throbbing aches and pains.

A soft smile curled his mouth, reserved for one who would probably never see it shine so warmly again.  Turning his back on the lambent creature, Nico slipped from the room, silent as a shadow.

* * *

It took a few days of rest before he graced the world with his presence once more.  The harsh splattering of color that tarnished his olive skin still shined through in the brightest of light, so it was fortunate for him that the somber orange hue painting the inside of the bar helped to masquerade the worst of it.

Shoulders back, spine straight, he waltzed through the entry like a hot summer breeze, beckoning attention, difficult to ignore.  Heads turned, eyes lingering along the tight fit of pants that cupped in all the right places, teasing and taunting and screaming intent.

Dark gaze kept focus straight ahead, disregarding the eyes that beseeched a single glance.  He was not so easily swayed, never caring for transient beauty or plastic smiles, never halting for a moment to appraise something first.  His parlance was money, ears going deaf to all that communicated with anything else.

Sitting down upon the crooked stool, he placed a cigarette between his lips, barely even having a second to reach for a light when one was offered up.  Casting a sideways look, he caught the shimmer of deep green eyes, dancing mischievously, encircled with opaque kohl shadow and a thick fan of long eyelash.

Her pale skin radiated brightly in the orange glow, haloed by a head of luxuriant, spiraling black curls, cascading to her shoulders in swirls of ink.  Sparkling white teeth dazzled underneath pouty red lips, drawn softly up in an incandescent sort of smile.

Accepting the kiss of flame, he inhaled slowly, assessing the woman, from her sexy black dress to the stilettoed pumps on her feet.  “Sorry, not interested,” he sighed, turning away, watching the smoke create a wall of swirling clouds betwixt them.

Her laugh was like little bells, high trill slicing through his skull in a shudder of sound.  “I’m not trying to pick you up,” she murmured, resting her chin delicately upon her open palm.

“Alright then,” he replied, voice laced with doubts.  If she inordinately insisted, he probably wouldn’t say no.  Wouldn’t be the first time a woman flung herself at him.

She chuckled again, deep and low.  “Really, I’m just visiting a friend.”

 Humming in amusement, he pulled another drag, watching the paper alight with a bright red glow, before fading to a dull grey.  “Do you always dress up to visit friends?”

“Ah, no.  Horrible date, had to sneak out the back during dinner.  I was down the road, so I thought I’d stop in for a drink.  Or five.”  She smiled softly, dropping her gaze down to the polished wood.

“Boring, or?”  Flicking the butt with the pad of his thumb, ash crumbled when it met the plastic tray.

A fierce look passed over her face, jaw clenching imperceptibly before her features mitigated some.  “Let’s just say, he never once looked me in the eye.  Unless my eyes are down on my tits, though last time I checked, they’re not.  When he got a little bit gropey, I feigned a bathroom break, and got the Hell out of Dodge.”

“Scumbag,” he muttered, feeling the hint of a frown drawing his brows lower.

She sighed, curling a lock of hair behind her ear.  “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be, that’s even worse.”  It left a bad taste in his mouth, thinking about how many times it took before someone grew used to being degraded.  He washed it away with the bite of tobacco, preferring a foul taste he put there himself to one he couldn’t escape.

Turning her head his way, green eyes evaluated him.  A flash of something tender, chased with a shot of burning intensity, fading away to a spark of recognition.  A smile broke out across her face, flicking her gaze down the length of the bar, then back again.  “You must be Nico,” she hummed.

Eyebrows rose high, the strange thrum of intrigue spiking low in his stomach.  “How do you know my name?”

“Lucky guess?”

Stubbing out the remainder of his cigarette, he rose to leave.

“Okay, more than a lucky guess,” she admitted softly, folding her arms over the top of the bar.

Sitting back down, he gave his full attention, quirking a brow in faint interest.  “Do tell,” he drawled, propping his elbow up to rest the side of his head against his knuckles.

“I know the name, a basic description, but judging from the way my friend has barely taken his eyes off of you since you walked in, I assumed you’re him.  It was either that or the fact you’re a knockout.  Most of the people here are looking at you.”  She flashed him another brilliant smile, offering out her hand by way of introduction.  “I’m Lou Ellen, by the way.  Will’s the friend I’m here to see.”

Warm skin met cooler flesh, slender fingers dainty compared to his own.  The grip was firm, speaking volumes about her level of self-confidence, but she allowed him control of the shake, a stark contrast to her demanding personality.

Eyes ghosted down the length of the bar, catching the sight of crystal blue orbs, bronze skin aglow in the wash of orange light.  A smirk crept its way across his lips.  “Your friend talks about me, then?” 

Lou Ellen ducked her head in embarrassment, a slow flush painting her cheeks.  “Pretend you didn’t hear it from me.  If he asks, we figured out our shared acquaintance by chance.”

“We’re not really acquainted,” he replied airily, voice laced with amusement.

Another laugh, little bells sounding more charming than before.  “If you say so,” she teased, eyes flickering with warm affection.

Something strange flared up inside of his middle.  Something light and tingly and warm; curling fingers through his chest, stretching long limbs up into his throat.  It was like swirls of pure white smoke, dancing through his veins, pumped hard by his stuttering heart.  He didn’t know why, but he wished it would stay forever, even as he knew it couldn’t last.

* * *

For the first time in his life, he hesitated.  Hesitated when the man sat down on the stool beside him.  Hesitated when the question slipped past his chapped lips like a cold sigh.  Hesitated, though nothing had changed inside of him, yet everything had, all at once.

The shock of sparkling blue flickered annoyingly across his mind, making his jaw clench in anger before he gave a stiff nod, unable to offer himself up as freely as he normally did. 

The man in the seat barely even registered the waves of uncertainty rolling off his body, toxic and choking; dense and black and uninviting.

Instead, he smiled at Nico with barely contained lust.  “What’ll it be, then?  Another martini?”

Lips parted, and he swore he heard them groan in protest.  “Whatever you want, I’m game for anything,” he murmured back.  The usual flirty tone he used sounded rusted and strange, the innuendo slipping past his teeth with lackluster conviction.  He shook his head to rid it of fog, thankful the other was too busy placing a drink order to notice his abnormal hesitancy.

“Bartender, two double shots of Jaeger, please.”  Stale grey eyes slipped his way questioningly, checking for a reaction, gauging his choice.

Nico forced the smile harder than ever, feeling the weight of his face fight formidably in response.  When the shots were before them, they clinked glass gently together in celebration before both parties knocked them back, uninhibited.

It tasted repugnant like cough syrup, though it felt even worse.  Sickly sweetness coated his mouth, masking the harsh bite of liquor that normally made taking straight shots such an exhilarating experience until then.

All fluid motion was gone, all carefully rehearsed moves flying out the window like a stack of papers caught in up a windswept breeze.  The persona he’d worked so hard to maintain felt like a burden at that moment, the promise of payment not enough to sway.  He swirled the skewered fruit around his usual martini, watching the daydream of himself break off from reality and offer a pointed touch.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, struck with the sudden silence that ensued.  “So,” he offered, eager to kick-start the conversation Nico knew should be happening.

With a deep breath, he succumbed to the tiresome work before him; becoming a predatory creature stalking its prey.

Dark eyes glanced over, willing the rest of his limbs to follow suit.   Forcing a coy smile to slip across his mouth, he dropped lids low to appear sexy, perhaps a little inebriated, and potentially loose.  “So,” he cooed back, voice a breathy whisper, sure to entice.

It appeared to work, as the man’s face quivered with lascivious thoughts.  “Another round, perhaps something different this time?”

Throwing back his martini, he welcomed the wash of warmth that helped propel the night ever forward.  Another smile curled his lips, softer than before, and he cocked his head just so.  “Why not.”

They sipped large frothy drinks, the brim of their glasses covered in crystalline pink sugar; an appealing hue to offset the deep blue of the drink.  A triangular shaped piece of pineapple was floating toward the top, skewered on a little sword, accompanied by a cherry, stem still intact. 

Picking it up by the little handle, he sucked the bits of sweet alcohol from the fruit, watching from the corner of his eye as the man licked his lip in anticipation.  Tongue traced the edges delicately, the sour bite of pineapple stinging his taste buds in a gratifying way.

The man leaned forward, entranced by the action that was meant to ensnare.  A low grumbling sound emanated in his throat, deep and possessive and lust-filled.

Nico's mouth quirked up in a satisfied smile at the rush of pure heat it instilled down into his core.

He dropped the fruit back into the glass, shimmering bluer than the sky, azure and brilliant like a kind gaze.  All at once, the satisfaction vanished, replaced with a coil of unease that worked its way around his insides, squeezing tightly.

A hand rested on his arm, drawing his focus back to grey eyes, twinkling with desire.  “What do you say to-“

“Fifty for the night, twenty for fifteen minutes,” he mumbled, feeling his face take on a somber expression.

The man blinked back his surprise, grip going a little slack, sliding down the length of muscle to land closer to the elbow.  “Oh.  Oh, I didn’t realize-“

“My time isn’t free?  By all means, sit and chat to your heart’s content.  If you want more, you pay.”  Turning away, he lifted the drink to his lips, sipping deep and slow.  Sickeningly sweet beverages weren’t really his partiality; but neither were any of the others he consumed, so he swallowed it down without pulling a face.

“What… what exactly does that entitle?”

He hummed in mild amusement, placing his elbow down along the cool mahogany to rest his chin against his palm.  “Whatever you want to do to me,” he purred, voice a breathy sounding whisper.  Dark eyes flicked over, narrowing slightly.  “I don’t get on my knees, though, so don’t ask.”

The man looked skeptical.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone denied his proposition. Probably not the last, either.  He stared back long and hard, jaw clenching and unclenching as he worked through his contemplation.  Mouth became a firm line, but he gave a stiff nod.

“Alright, twenty it is, then.”

Another smirk curled his lips, slipping from the seat to offer out his hand.  “Come with me, then,” he replied, voice sultry and low.

Slamming the remainder of his drink, the man obliged.

* * *

 

It wasn’t like normal, barely containing the urge to shudder and squirm beneath the sweaty palms and grip held just a little too tight.  The fine line between acceptance and violation was stretching itself thinner by the second, and he had to bite his lip to stifle the whimper bubbling up in his throat.

When it was over, he couldn’t even meet the other’s gaze; just pulled out a smoke from his pack, lit it, and held out his hand for compensation, watching the streetlight flicker about thirty feet back.  It stuttered and buzzed, almost in time with his rapid heart, before finally deciding to shine its brightest and burn out.  He wondered briefly if it would ever go on again.

The man cleared his throat, drawing dark eyes down to his flushed face.  “So, uh, thanks?”

“Don’t mention it,” he hummed, the sound choked slightly beneath the outpouring of smoke that followed the words from his lips.  Taking another drag, he breathed a thick wall that obscured his vision momentarily, until the wind swept it off into the cold night.

“I, uh,” the man shuffled from foot to foot.  “I’ll see you, then.”

Nico hummed in response; skeptical, if not slightly appalled.  No one ever came back, which actually worked out better than if they had.  Soliciting sex wasn’t the most attractive thing, the men surely had to feel some manner of shame, afterward.

Grey eyes shifted around, beads of moisture dotting his flesh.  Turning on his heels, the sweaty man hurried off the other direction, stumbling slightly as he went.

The money felt slick in his hand, so he stuffed it inside of his pocket, rubbing the residue onto the front of his jeans.  A swirl of vapor left his mouth, curling up into the inky night sky, disappearing somewhere above his head.  Tossing the cigarette onto the pavement, he made sure his boot snuffed its life before walking the remaining distance back to the bar.

The blue drink was gone, replaced instead by a glimmering martini, all three olives perched precariously atop the rim, held together by a slender toothpick.  Glancing down the length of the room, he caught sight of the scintillating man, collecting glasses and wiping up spilled liquid with a crisp white cloth, focus transfixed on his work.

Emotions stirred inside his gut, eyes dropping to his boots as they made their way over to the lopsided seat.  It groaned as he sat, the shriek of old joints rushing up to meet his ears, whining as he shifted his weight comfortably around. 

The glass was cold in his grip, the skewered fruit brushing his nose as he took a tentative sip.  Warmth seeped into his skin, doing nothing to ease the twist in his stomach.  Heaving a sigh, he set it back down, dropping the toothpick into the drink.

“Long night?" The voice floated up over the sound of his inner turmoil, smooth and silky as it vibrated between his ears.

Running fingers along the stem, he cast his gaze upon a pair of gentle cerulean irises; bronze skin aglow in the orange light, framed by golden locks of hair, creating a soft sunset effect with his person.  “Not particularly, no,” he admitted, unable to stop the small smile from quirking his lips.

Tilting his head in question, Will appeared to drink in the mood.  “Why do you do it, if you don’t mind my asking.”  His tone was neither intrusive nor judgmental, just a light breeze sweeping across the surface of the issue with a gentle caress.

Nico’s eyes wandered across the bottles of liquor lining a small shelf in back, mulling over the answer and whether or not he minded being asked.  Shrugging softly, he sank a little lower in the seat, spine bowing outward as elbows kissed the bar.  “It’s easy, for one.”

Will nodded like he understood, gaze urging him ever onward.

“And effortless,” folding hands beneath his chin, he shrugged again.  “Point me in the direction of a job that pays a minimum of fifteen hundred a month, supplied with free booze, lets me sleep in til noon, and doesn’t force me to think too hard; I’ll jump on it in an instant.  Until then, pays the bills.”

“So it’s the money, then?”  A slight frown had creased his brow, eyes going foggy like he was deep in thought.

Nico smirked.  “Do you judge me for that?”

Blinking rapidly, he shook his head.  “Not at all.”

Lips pulled up into a full grin, eyes crinkling in delight.  “Good, because I was going to inform you that most people take work because of the money.  You don’t need to like your job to do it well; all that matters is that you still keep your self-worth intact in the process, that you go to bed and rest easy every night.”

“And do you,” Will asked, looking more curious than incredulous.

Nico hummed in amusement.  “Does it look like I let it get me down?”

Eyes scanned him meticulously, seeming to look past the mask of unaffected haughtiness he kept firmly in place.  “Sometimes,” he admitted, then smiled softly, soothing the ache of his words.  “But maybe that’s just my own projection.  I think everyone has days they question themselves and why they’re doing what they’re doing.”

“What about you, then.  Why do you bartend in such a scummy place?  I’m not talking about the décor, either, but the people that come in here.”  He took another sip of his drink, fire burning down his throat in sweet sort of ecstasy.

Will chuckled, running a hand through his hair.  “Pays the bills,” he chirped, blue eyes shining with mirth.  Bending a little closer, he dropped his voice to a low hum.  “Actually, it really does pay very well.  But I’ll let you in on a little secret.  My friend owns the place, so I offered to help out when it opened.  Now, I couldn’t see myself doing anything else.”

“Why not try another bar, one with less trash,” he asked quietly, enjoying the wave of pleasure that shot down his spine when the other breathed a warm sigh across his face.

“I happen to think the people who frequent have character,” Will mused, cocking an eyebrow pointedly.

Nico dismissed it with a laugh, rich and deep as it rolled its way up from his stomach.  “If you say so,” he teased, acknowledging the jab at himself, unwilling to care.

A couple stepped up to the bar, drawing the other’s attention away.  Chewing his lower lip, he sighed softly.  “Well, duty calls.”

Nico watched him go, eyes tracing the steady sway of his hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you thought it was a gay bar?  
> It's not. It's just a sleazy one that isn't in the greatest part of town, and probably frequents horrible people. Girls are there as well.  
> Yes, Cecil is the owner.  
> If you didn't get that, oops?
> 
> Comments are so lovely, and they make me smile. :)


	3. A Twinge of Something Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can I get you another,” the man purred, reaching a hand out to stroke the side of his leg.
> 
> “No thanks,” he sighed again, smoke tumbling from his lips along with the words. Pulling another long drag, he let it out through his nose. “I don’t like tequila much, anyhow.”
> 
> “Something else, then?”
> 
> Tapping fingers along the wood, he eyed the greedy look the man offered him. Too possessive, like the acquiescence of conversation meant he was guaranteed something more. It made Nico angry, so he shoved the probing hand off.
> 
> “Not interested” he muttered, putting just enough vehemence into his words to convey both messages.
> 
> The man didn’t take the hint, or else he didn’t think it really applied in truth. “Then how about we find somewhere a little more private, see how things go,” he breathed, placing the hand back in the offensive area.
> 
> Nico wanted to stub the cigarette out on it, prove his point in actions. Instead, he pulled back on the mask of a seductive creature, smiled coyly and bit his lip. Curling his finger in a come hither motion, he waited until the man was close enough to touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to hoping this maintains a flow similar to before?  
> I'm horrible at keeping pace.

Weeks passed, the days blurring one into the next.  It grew harder with each breath to count the seconds that slipped by, hands shaking as they held up each new drink to his lips; the same ones that fought so hard to keep themselves painted in a soft smile.

Nobody noticed, nobody pointed it out; the way his skin paled, stretched too tight over bones that jutted out a little more than was considered appealing; the way he moved with a kind of stiff jerkiness that was more robotic than anything he’d ever done.

Nobody cared.

That was the ultimate truth, and he didn’t lie to himself, didn’t dare to pretend it was ever more than just for the pain, just for the fleeting sensations that propelled him out of his bed each morning, kept him wandering back alone each night.  It was just for the money, just a means to an end.

So he smiled when he could, laughed when appropriate, ignoring the uneasy feeling that slowly suffocated him, threatening to drag him into a dark and endless pit.  It was no more difficult than before, and at the same time, positively unbearable.

He fought it back, kept it bubbling just below the surface of his skin; a new layer that cried to be released, begged for something he didn’t think he could give.  He couldn’t succumb, not now, not ever, not yet.

It was like a storm that fought his resolve away, chipping him down from the inside out.  It ebbed and flowed; all at once, and then in tiny little trickles, sometimes imposing, sometimes no more than a gentle sigh.

The shake in his hands soon turned into a tremor, erupting into a spasm that rattled brittle bones against paper-thin skin.  He clasped them tight between thighs to stop the motion, kept them hidden, if only for his own sake.

The smile faltered, the weight of his face became too heavy to bear.

He all but felt the delicate change as his world began to tilt on its axis; deafening, mind-numbing, and raw.  The thin façade he’d kept so meticulously in place had cracked, allowing a rush of sensations that burned him up inside, raking knives of white-hot agony straight through his soul.

There was no peace; only the throb of self-deprecating thoughts, and the sweet relief he found whenever the sting of liquor coated and consumed the hollow aching in his chest. 

Relief only lasted for a moment, only dulled everything so much; so when he’d crawl into bed at night, falling against the icy cold sheets, body writhing in pain, sweat drenching his pale skin; he’d curl up into himself and scream.  For hours or minutes, it didn’t matter.  All he knew was that his throat felt bloody come the morning and that he found it just as cumbersome to lift his head as it was the previous day.

Still, they came, in waves of foul breath and hordes of slicked hands; they took and took and took, more than he was able to give, until he was just an outline with a feeble laugh, a skeleton with a paper heart pinned inside.

It rocked his very foundation, made it difficult to discern which direction was up, and which boundary was too far to cross.  If everything felt so wrong, who was to say what was adherently right?  If it all left him feeling broken, then what was the difference?

Surely nothing was right, and would never be right for him again.  He didn’t even understand what that word actually meant, and probably never had.  It was as worthless as okay, as empty as fine.  Things you said to appease, lies you told to placate.

Lines blurred to the point of blindness, words becoming ash on his tongue.  He couldn’t even find it in himself to deny anything anymore, just allowed it all with a nod of his head, an open palm at the end for acceptance of payment. 

Hanging back against the red brick, he'd feel everything at once, and yet was unable to so much as notice the wind caressing his flesh.  It stuttered along the length of his spine, wrapping arms of icy comfort out along his arms, and down legs to his feet.

And then everything burst, like a dam inside of his head; a hurricane of emotions, a drowning sense of inadequacy, of torment, of back-breaking hatred for the thing he had become.  It swamped over every last inch, trickled down into the cracks, floated up over the walls.  And soon, it was quiet.  And then, there was nothing left untouched.

* * *

Nico sat at the bar, perched atop a brand new, red leather stool, holding onto his highball of gin with condensation slipping slowly down in drops of icy moisture, pinky hovering just inches from the cool glass.  Dark eyes sat fixated on the same spot of flickering shadow, cast through the liquid in his cup, rippling like waves upon the mahogany surface of wood.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, completely transfixed; but by the time the man sat down next to him, drawing his gaze ever upward, slipping it sideways until they caught the sight of muddy brown watching him back, his ice had melted.

Gin tastes just as horrible watered down.

Knocking it back, lips puckered at the bitter flavor of pine; throat stung as the aftertaste of rubbing alcohol followed.  He set the glass on the counter, far enough away that it couldn’t be missed.  “Can I help you with something,” he sighed, crossing arms over the top of the bar, hesitant to turn attention toward the man.

“More like I can help you with another drink,” he propositioned back, waving down one of the bartenders that wasn’t Will, so he hadn’t made a point to bother with a name.  “Two doubles of Jose, please.”

“Thanks, but I didn’t agree to drink with you,” Nico replied, a little haughtily.  His patience with overly domineering men had slowly run thinner in him, something about the thrill of getting them to beg a little just wasn’t as satisfying as before.

The man laughed, deep and gravelly, causing a shot of adrenaline to race down his spine.  Turning to assess the guy, he found nothing more than another narcissistic fool, with a too bright false white smile and a cheap suit.

“It’s only just a double.  Drink it or don’t, see if I care.”  His features seemed relaxed, but his eyes held the kind of hunger that Nico knew derived from a desire for power.  Over people, or just when it came to his job, it was all the same in the end.

When the drink came, he made a point to knock it back fast.  Tequila was better chased with lime, but the man didn’t ask, so he didn’t either.  Lighting a cigarette, he washed away the harshly burnt sweet flavor.

“Can I get you another,” the man purred, reaching a hand out to stroke the side of his leg.

“No thanks,” he sighed again, smoke tumbling from his lips along with the words.  Pulling another long drag, he let it out through his nose.  “I don’t like tequila much, anyhow.”

“Something else, then?”

Tapping fingers on the wood, he eyed the greedy look the man offered him.  Too possessive, like the acquiescence of conversation meant he was guaranteed something more.  It made Nico angry, so he shoved the probing hand off.

“Not interested,” he muttered, putting just enough vehemence into his words to convey both messages.

The man didn’t take the hint, or else he didn’t think it really applied in truth.  “Then how about we find somewhere a little more private, see how things go,” he breathed, placing the hand back in the offensive area.

Nico wanted to stub the cigarette out on it, prove his point in actions.  Instead, he pulled back on the mask of a seductive creature, smiled coyly and bit his lip.  Curling his finger in a come hither motion, he waited until the man was close enough to touch.

Grabbing the necktie, he yanked hard, until the shell of an ear brushed softly against his lips.  “I said I’m not interested.  Now kindly fuck off,” he cooed, sensual enough to be a lover’s secret were it not for the harsh meaning of the words.  Shoving hard, he forced the man away from him, snarling in the process in utter disgust.  “Go find someone else, you leech.”

Running a hand through short cropped black hair, the man’s jaw clenched, before he rose from the stool.  “Who wants to waste time on a two-bit whore like you, you probably have a disease.”

Nico smirked, tilting his head lazily.  “Even my diseases are too good for you, sweetheart,” he purred, laying it on thick and smooth like crushed velvet.

The man stalked off down the bar, cheeks pink with anger.

Ordering another drink, he watched the way the copper liquid shone down a little darker, but still managed to dance across the wood in an intoxicating manner.  No one else disturbed him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  Money was easy enough to come by if you knew where to look.

The ashtray overflowed before he decided to leave, some of the cigarettes burned down all of their own accords, while others were stubbed out before their time.  He lit another, slipping out into the crisp night air.  Winter was coming, he could feel it.

Feet traced the familiar path down the alleyway, a habit of sorts, though it also brought him closer to his apartment.  He wasn’t positive home was where he was headed, but starting off any direction would surely find him somewhere, so he allowed himself to wander a little, deep in thought.

The sound of living beings perked his ears, drawing eyes down around the corner where he was used to standing, watching the streetlight flicker on and off.  Forms grew and shrank just beyond where he could see, dark masses swaying in the night.  He meant to ignore it, walk away without a second thought, when a slight huff of irritation gave him pause.

His pulse accelerated instantly, heart hammeing in his chest, drawing closer until he could just make out the low vibration of a man’s voice and the quiet whisper of another.

“Come on, what do you say we go back to my place. I can make it worth your while.”  The voice drifted past him on the wind, low purr too far away to distinguish anything more than basic words.  The murmured response was even softer, though if he had to guess, it sounded a lot like a no.

“I said I’d pay you, just shut up and accept it already,” he snarled, and Nico visibly flinched when he recognized the thrum of superiority, the twang of sound as it rang through his ears.  It was the same man he’d turned down, and it appeared he took the advice to heart.

An icy chill ran down his back, sinking claws into his skin.  There was still time to leave, pretend he didn’t hear anything, notice anyone.  Feet kept moving forward, walking quietly closer, until the voice that cut through the silence next made his stomach constrict in pain, stopping dead in his tracks.

“I said leave me alone.  You have five seconds to get out of here before I report you to the police.”

It was calm, level, the sound of someone unafraid of their situation, regardless of how intimidating it may be.  Even with the stern tone, Nico heard the soft hum of warmth that pulsated throughout, the guy too kind to ever sound truly vicious.  It was going to be his downfall someday, but not today, if Nico had any say in the matter.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing,” he growled, throwing down the butt in his hand and stomping it out as he stepped just close enough to make out the glow of bronze skin in the surrounding darkness.

The man whipped around, eyes going wide before he blinked away the look of surprise.  “Oh, it’s only you.  Sorry, but you missed your chance.  Maybe next time.  Now get lost, we’re busy here.”

Hands curled into fists, jaw clenching with anger.  “I’m pretty sure he said to leave him alone.  I think you should respect his wishes and fuck off.”

“Nico,” Will pleaded softly.

A low growl emanated from the other’s throat, spinning back around and waving cash in the air like it meant something.  “And I said get lost, this doesn’t concern you any longer.  You made your choice.  Beat it, before I make you.”

Nico let out a snort, crossing arms over his chest, hip cocked.  When he spoke, his voice was as hard and cold as icy metal.  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to make me because until I know you’re not out here harassing any more innocent people, I’m not leaving.”

The smile he received was wolfish, muddy eyes dark as coal in the low light.  He approached slowly, hands in pockets, sauntering up like he owned the place.  “Alright,” he hummed, smile still locked in place.

The explosion of pain across his face told him he’d been hit, left eye throbbing outward and into his ear, making it ring.  He blinked against the sensation, shaking his head to orient himself.  The man chuckled like he thought they were through, turning back to Will to continue his lecherous proposition.

Nico surged forward, spinning him around and knocking him square in the jaw.  He staggered a bit, swearing profusely and rubbing the tender flesh.

“You little shit. I have work tomorrow,” he snarled, flying forward in another attack.

Side stepping easily, Nico brought his knee up, landing it directly into the solar plexus of his attacker, causing him to splutter and wheeze.  His fist kissed face, knuckles splitting painfully on contact. 

The man went down hard, clutching his nose as blood pooled and seeped between closed fingers.  He writhed on the ground, moaning like a child, curling legs up into a semi-fetal position. 

Nico kicked him in the side, earning a choked cough in response.  “Now stay the fuck away from this place, or so help me, I won’t let you off easy the next time.  And learn what no means.  My god, have a little dignity.”

The man recovered pretty fast, scrambling to his feet and racing off into the night, hands cupped against his stomach and face.

The chain of curse words that spilled from his lips did nothing to ease the anger he felt raking fingers of fire through his chest.  Parts of him hurt, but nothing compared to the flare of emotions ripping through him in that moment.

He’d almost forgotten the other was standing there until a warm hand came down to rest on his shoulder.

“Hey, calm down. It's over now,” Will murmured, voice as soft and unassuming as it always was.

Nico’s jaw clenched again, glaring the direction the man had escaped.  “I can’t believe that piece of shit had the nerve to try and force himself on you like that,” he snarled.  It was one thing that he’d had to turn the guy away, he never thought the repercussion would fall on Will.

Releasing a soft sigh, Will shrugged.  “It happens sometimes, people get intoxicated, they don’t know what they’re doing.  It’s nothing I can’t deal with.”

The laugh that escaped his lips was bitter and terrible.  “That disgusting excuse for a human being was no more drunk than he was when he tried the same shit earlier.  He’s scum, and he needed a good throttle to teach him a lesson.  What’s more, you shouldn’t have to put up with that shit, to begin with.  This is your job, not an invitation to get pressured into sex.”  Turning his head, he stared up into a gentle gaze.

Will smiled warmly in response, swiping a thumb beneath his steadily swelling eye.  “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind,” he murmured, voice light and warm and kind.

Growling, he shook the hand away from his face, feeling a stab of pain ricochet through his chest.  “Okay?  He was treating you like-“ the words died in his throat, choked by the sudden wave of nausea that overcame him.

_Like a toy, like an object, like people treat me._

Slipping eyes shut, he turned away, feeling ashamed.

“Really, Nico.  I’m okay.  I promise.  We should get you some ice for your eye.  Possibly your hand, too.”

Ghosting a touch over his stinging knuckles, he bit his lip hard, resolving to agree.  Ice would be nice, and would probably help the ache.  “Alright,” he muttered, glancing back at the radiant creature watching him, smiling just as softly as he always did.  “Ice sounds heavenly.”

* * *

The small condo wasn’t far, he’d learned as much when he walked out the door all those weeks ago, never expecting himself to return, let alone under such mirroring circumstances.  The night he’d been attacked was foggy at best, but he knew somewhere deep down that Will had taken care of the creep in much the same way.  He’d never even bothered to thank him, and now, it felt too late.

He sat on the couch, holding the frozen pack of gel to his knuckles, forgoing the swelling around his eye since it wasn’t as terrible as his fist.  Two large gashes split the pale skin directly over the bones of his pointer and middle fingers, making it hard to open and close his hand.

“Better,” the other asked, sitting down beside him with another gentle smile.

Pulling the thing back, he examined the skin.  “I’ve had worse,” he admitted, watching as the deep red darkened steadily into ugly purple, with just a flash of green rimming the inside.

“Can I get you anything, something to eat or drink?  Even just a glass of water?”

Staring up into the azure gaze, he shook his head.  All he wanted most was a shot of something strong, and a couple of cigarettes to chase away the burn.  “I’m fine.”  The lie left his tongue, and he wondered why it was always so easy to use.

Will assessed him for a moment, seeming to pick up on something.  “I have beer if that’s more your style.”

The smirk that graced his lips was answer enough.

He returned not long after he left with two bottles of something dark.  They clicked together in cheers before he washed away the sting of residual anger with a hearty sip.  It was tart and bitter, almost like coffee, with a hint of milky sweetness and a dash of chocolate.

“Not bad,” he appraised, reading the label to discover it was a milk stout.  “I don’t do beer really, but it’s better than that piss shit.”

Will chuckled, soft and deep.  “Sorry, I don’t drink a lot of straight vodka or gin.”

Nico nodded solemnly.  “It is pretty terrible, but that’s kind of why I like it.  Doesn’t pretend to taste better than it does, it just is what it is.  You can pay more so it goes down smooth, but it all tastes like hell in the end.”  Smiling, he took another swig.

The laugh he got in response rang high and pleasant through his ears, making him shiver slightly.  “You’re a walking contradiction, you know that?”  Will’s voice was fond, if not a little teasing.

He hummed low in his throat.  “I like to think of it as being honest.  Life is contradictory, at times.”

“Honest, but only in some aspects, while others, you seek to misdirect.  Which only solidifies the contradictory aspect of your personality.  It’s like you view the world in sets of two; the way others live, and the way you do.  Sometimes they intercept and are congruent, but mostly, they’re at odds.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he watched the other sip slowly from his drink, eyes dancing as they regarded him warmly.  “I think you just explained the way most people are, holding themselves to different standards than everyone else.”

Will nodded.  “Yes, but you seem to hold yourself in a far lesser light, assuming you don’t deserve the same things you tell others they do.  Why are you so much different from everyone else in your own mind, what makes it alright to be mistreated, even if you won’t think of it that way in terms of yourself?”

Frowning, he finished off the beer quickly.  “I’m not like you,” he mumbled, handing over the empty bottle when Will stuck out his hand in question.

Standing up, he went and grabbed another from the fridge, popping the top without even asking if it was wanted.  “How so,” Will asked, voice curious and soft.

The sigh left his lips in a rush, tickling the sensitive skin of his knuckles.  “I don’t even know what it means to feel normal anymore, what is right and what isn’t.  With other people, I have a pre-mapped ideal of how things should go, what they should be like.  But I don’t have those same feelings, they don’t work inside of me.  I’m either always disgusted, or hopelessly numb.  I tried to find the line that separates things, but its irreversibly damaged, or maybe it never even existed with me.”

Will placed a hand on his, offering a gentle, albeit saddened smile.  “Maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places,” he offered, voice a little thick but still dripping with tenderness.

Nico clucked his tongue, taking a slow drink, coating his mouth with satisfying flavors.  “You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want into my pants,” he chided.

The laugh that followed caused his heart to quicken its pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milk stout is my favorite beer. :3
> 
> I'm pretty sure this is going to be 5 chapters,  
> But then again,  
> I thought when I started this one, it was definitely ending at 4.  
> So. Expect nothing from me, I cannot guarantee anything ever.
> 
> Comments are my life blood, and leaving them keeps me going. :)


	4. The Taste of Warm Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No summary, because everything gives something away?

He awoke in the soft embrace of sunlight and warm skin. 

Splaying through the windows, it painted his face with gentle caresses, dancing across his cheeks as a light breeze fluttered the thin white curtain.  The steady rise and fall of a chest pressed tight against his back, arm wrapped snug around his waist, made him hesitant to so much as breathe too hard for fear of ruining the picture perfect dream he found himself in.

As the last touches of fog swirled around his brain, he allowed eyes to open all the way, taking in the room basked in the pale golden glow of what was still probably early morning, though it could have been late day.

They’d talked for a few hours at most, but by the time eyelids drooped precariously, Will had insisted upon him staying, or else allowing him to drive Nico back home.  Both had consumed far too many drinks for either to drive safely, so he agreed to spend the night, thankful he wouldn’t need to walk so far when sleep was creeping up on him slowly.

They shared the bed, only after Will offered to take the couch, and he refused to force the guy there again after the guilt he felt the first time.  It assuredly wasn’t fair to rob someone of their bed, and he’d never been modest enough that sleeping near another made him feel even the slightest bit reluctant.  After all, it was only sleep.

The king-sized mattress meant neither had to touch if they didn’t want to, so when his eyes finally closed, pressed as far over against the left side as he could be without falling off, he never imagined he’d wake in the exact same place, with the other wrapped around him like his life depended on it.

There were worse ways to wake up; alone occasionally being one of them.

He felt more than heard the other begin to stir, wondering briefly if he, too, should feign inattentiveness.  The arm around his middle tightened imperceptibly, before he noticed a tension in the movement, followed shortly by a disapproving sigh.

It intrigued him, to know why it was the other was reacting in such a manner, so he pivoted around slightly, somber expression playing out on his face.  “Is something wrong,” he asked, lifting an eyebrow in question, watching those captivating eyes flicker through a reel of emotions, before turning soft and clement.

“I forgot to mention I get a little clingy in my sleep,” he murmured, breath like a gentle sigh across the skin of his face.  It was tart like liquor, laced with coffee and chocolate.

Lips parted in response, wanting nothing more than to steal a taste; see if it, too, was just as heady.  He resisted, untrusting of something so wanton as fickle thoughts and capricious desire.  “Do this often,” he asked, feeling the smirk as it pulled at his lips.

The arm around his waist remained a constant comforting weight.

“Not really, no.  Which is why I forgot.”  He stated it matter-of-factly, like a random piece of a puzzle laid out in front of them, chalking up to create the bigger whole. 

It was so strange, to hear such a straightforward answer; without ulterior implications, without fear of how it might be perceived.  The playful look vanished, replaced with one of inquisitiveness.  “Oh.  Well, that’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Will stared hard at something before his look turned to one of contemplative concern.  “Your eye is still pretty bad.  Does it hurt?”  Fingers ghosted up from his hip, across the curve of his chest, catching the left side of his face and gently angling it closer.  It was soft and warm, the pad of his thumb brushing smoothly against the bone in his cheek, barely visible beneath the eye.

“No,” he admitted, swallowing down the whimper stuck in his throat.  It wasn’t for the pain, but for the tenderness he felt in that small touch.

“And your hand,” he asked, voice dropping to a quiet hum. 

The one in question was resting between them, displayed against his thigh, but azure eyes never once broke from his obsidian ones, so he wondered if it was more a formality than an actual worry.  Lifting it, it wrapped around the arm hovering just over his sternum, fingers splayed out over the tanned flesh.

“See for yourself,” Nico replied, words like the sound of a needle skipping across the scratched surface of a record.  It was harsh and throaty, but only in sound alone.

Will slipped the hand from his face, drawing across the sharp angle of his jawline, down, curling fingers around knuckles to better inspect the way the skin still split along the bone.  It was meticulous, the way he scanned the abrasions; look calculating, as if it were some great enigma, and the clues were littered throughout if only he gave thought to their meanings.

Humming low in his throat, he came to his conclusion.  “Well, I don’t suppose you’ll need to have it amputated, but I’d like you to maybe use some peroxide before anything nasty can get into the open wounds.”

A laugh like a gunshot left his lips, ricocheting around the quiet room, filling it with the echoing sound.  He smiled again, beside himself, twisting fingers between his own, until they fit perfectly in the open spaces.  “I’m sure I’ve had worse,” he teased, knowing all too well how true it was.

Will’s gaze grew heavy with intent, face becoming a hard mask of something strange.  He was used to looks of lust, looks of want and power and sex and greed; but this was somehow a reflection of them, blurred slightly around the edges, rippling with distortions, until it became an entirely new thing, faded in all the right places, expanding outward in a pleasant way.

“Nico,” he whispered, but it sounded like so much more.  _Let me know you.  Let me see you.  Let me make it better._ Swallowing visibly, he scooted back along the bed, allowing room to twist further until Nico’s back mourned the loss of contact, but his heart fluttered at the thought of something new.

When they were face to face, hands still clutched at an awkward angle, Will smiled softly, though it was riddled with sad longing; sinking into the lines around his mouth, running up across his cheeks, ending in the gentle glow of his eyes.  He looked torn between two choices, unsure which was the proper one to choose.

Nico stared hard, watching the way pupils dilated and retracted, lost in the motion of black consuming blue, consuming black, consuming blue.  He wanted to map every last piece of those azure orbs until he knew which flecks were a stormy ocean, and which were a cloudless sky.

The hand in his tightened, and he pulled his focus back until the whole picture swam into view.

Lower lip held captive between teeth, he released it slowly, dragging lines of white across the surface, blood red rushing up to meet it.  “Can I kiss you,” he finally asked, looking so sincere it was almost comical.

Nico laughed, feeling the way it spread from his stomach, up through his chest, bubbling in his throat like champagne before dancing off his tongue.  “You need permission,” he hummed, voice dripping with soft amusement.

Will frowned slightly, brow furrowing in the place directly between his eyes.  “It’s polite not to assume it’ll be reciprocated.”

“Then yes, you may,” he breathed, though it rose up to greet his ears like a startled cry. 

Will moved the fingers from his grasp, tracing them up along his cheek, cupping warmly around the back of his neck, drawing him in with a delicate pull. 

He met it with little resistance, leaning forward across the yawning gap of space, pausing only for a moment to stare deeper into eyes before lips parted of their own accord, in anticipation of the feeling he knew was soon to follow.

When they met, it was like fire through his veins, so much different from the first time, hungrier, but still warm and comfortable and velvety and sweet.  Mouths opened in soft sighs, allowing gentle exploration that delved deeper, each demanding and then submitting, back and forth, on an endless loop.

The hand on his neck wove up through his hair, tugging sensually through the locks in an enticing sort of way, causing a low moan to float up from his throat.  He wanted more, even as he knew it would be too much, working his own hand around the other’s back, drawing their bodies closer.

Just as he was reaching his limit, he felt Will begin to pull away, softly, slowly, backtracking through the unyielding force of pure passion, smoothing out the chaotic flow of lips and tongues and teeth. 

It ebbed into something tender, the long press of mouths, the delicate pull of something deeper, fizzling out steadily until Will broke off entirely, planting one, two, three chaste kisses with a smile, and tugging his body forward until he came to lay half sprawled across his chest, head resting in the crook of his neck.

“Sorry,” Will murmured, the downy sound of happiness laced thick in his voice.  An arm came to wrap snugly against his back, fingers brushing feather-light strokes through his hair.  “Is this okay,” he asked after a moment of silence, stopping the motion to wait for a reply.

His immediate response was no, but it bordered so close to yes that he gave in with a nod.

Eyes slipped shut, letting out a breathy sigh as Will massaged his scalp in heavenly swirls of pressure.  When it became too hard to stand the comfortable feeling of silence, he hummed in amusement, a smile curling his lips.  “Well, you definitely don’t kiss your mother like that,” he quipped.

Will’s rumbling laughter vibrated in tantalizing sensations throughout his ears and chest.

* * *

 

If he was honest, it wasn’t all too surprising when the man sat down in the stool beside him and offered to buy him another martini.  Even damaged as he was, split fist and blackened eye, there was still someone willing to pay for a night with the quiet stranger at the bar.  There would always be someone willing to waste his time, trying to win a smile, a laugh, a look.

Some people just couldn’t help but want to fix the wounded creatures of this world.

He kindly refused, sending the stranger along his way, not really feeling much like putting on another act after the peculiar events that had transpired that morning.  If he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel warm arms wrapped around him, the gentle feeling of fingers running through his hair, the soft puffs of breath that tickled his skin.

It was too much to concentrate on anything else, so he turned down another, and another, until no one else tried sitting beside him, and in all honesty, he couldn’t be bothered to care.  The alcohol burned at the edges of memory until the only things he felt was the vertigo stuck behind his eyes, and the fire trapped inside his throat.  It made it manageable, in the only way he knew how.

He left alone, the same way he always did, crawling into the cool bed with a distraught sigh.  Perhaps the next day would be better, after his skin stopped craving the feeling of a certain touch, after his body finished all forms of withdrawal and his mind cleared once more.

Except it didn’t change when the sun peeked through the crack in his black curtains, and for a fleeting moment, he searched the empty space beside himself, wondering why it felt like no one had ever been there at all.

Realization dawned and he pulled back, curling fingers into fists, nails kissing the sensitive flesh of his palms. 

There was nothing to be done for it, however, so he pushed the strange sensation pooling in the pit of his stomach out of his thoughts and got dressed for the day, ignoring the tremor in his fingers and the hiccup in his step.

And so it went, for the next three nights, the only cure the sting of alcohol, the only peace found at the bottom of each glass.  They approached, and he dismissed until he wasn’t even sure how many he’d passed up, didn’t want to know how much money he’d forgone in the end. 

Not that he needed it.

His family assured as much, that he would never want for a single thing in his young life.  And then they’d left him, all alone, and nothing he found could ever fill the gaping hole their absence created inside his chest. 

No amount of money would ever replace the thing he’d lost, so he ignored it, forged his own path, paid his own rent.  It sat, untouched, save for the most desperate of times, a constant reminder of their sacrifice, a constant weight on his soul.

He drank to forget, and slowly, it ebbed.

The thoughts trickled to a steady halt, the cravings subsiding until they became tolerable to handle.  He was able to say yes this time, agree to share a drink with a stranger, laugh at the correct moments, smile coyly once more.  It wasn’t perfect, rough around the edges, but what he lacked in conviction, he made up for in charm.

It helped that sometimes, saying nothing was more appealing to most than saying too much.

So he pulled on a smile, tilted his head softly to the side, allthewhile his tongue sat limp and heavy in his mouth, unwilling to move unless loosened slowly with drink after drink after drink after drink.  The man obliged, of course, puffing chest with pride each time he was awarded a stroke of the finger along dry itchy skin, or a flutter of the eyelash at a particularly horrible joke.

They sat for hours, him listening to the words that couldn’t be made to stick inside of his brain longer than was needed to reply when it was necessary, and the man growing more lustful and less patient by the minute.  Finally, like all times, the proposition was put forth, and he drawled out the typical response without so much as a second thought.

“Alright, fifty it is then.  Should we go to your place, or would you like to come to mine?”

That threw him off, blinking rapidly as his mind worked through the fog of words, the effects of alcohol making him feel more sluggish than sharp.  “Uh, either one works for me,” he mumbled, feeling the crease in his brow before he had a chance to school his features.

The man didn’t seem to notice, warm green eyes trained down on the bar tab, filling in the necessary areas so the two could leave.  “My place is close, but I’m fine with yours if you’ll be more comfortable.”

“Yours works,” he replied, stubbing out the cigarette.  “Give me a minute, would you?  I’ll be right back.”

He smiled in response, finishing off the last sips of drink.  “I’ll be waiting,” he purred, watching for a moment as Nico slowly walked away.

At the end of the bar, he detoured, pulling another cigarette from his pack before stepping out into the cold night air.  Clutching it firmly between his teeth, he slipped into the shadows forming along the side of the building, disappearing into the night.

* * *

The door opened beside him with a bitter moan, stream of light spilling across the darkened alleyway, kissing the side of his boot as it struggled in its failed attempt to illuminate further up his body.  He watched it for a moment through a veil of swirling smoke before turning his attention away, eyes glancing sidelong in a warped sense of déjà vu.

Will set a bag into the old rusty garbage can, wiping the excess of something on his apron before catching sight of him there; hidden out in the open, leaning back against the red brick, much like he always did, small pile of littered cigarette butts crushed under his feet.

He made a sound of surprised recognition, kicking the door stopper up, allowing the entire thing to slam shut with an echoing screech.  Footsteps pattered timidly, the crunch of tiny bits of gravel scraping along the bottom of his shoes.

When he was mere inches within reach, he paused, cocking his head to the side in question.  “I thought you left, or it seemed like you must have. You’ve been gone for almost an hour and that guy finally just paid and went off.”

Pulling one final drag from the dying stick, he flicked it with his middle finger, watching the red embers explode along the ground, sizzling before they finally burnt out.  “That’s okay,” he hummed, releasing the smoke from his lungs like a sigh.  Stuffing hands into pockets, he chewed along the inside of his cheek.

“Were you avoiding him or something,” he asked, voice curious and calm.

Nico glanced his way, searching the expression in the too dim light.  It was less confused, more concerned than he let on, and Nico had to wonder why anyone would be concerned for him.  “Not really, no.  At least, not in particular.  I just wanted to be alone, someplace quiet, but not quite all the way back home.”

He shuffled anxiously around, running a hand through his golden locks.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I can leave you alone if you’d like.”

Shaking his head, he kicked off the wall.  “I’m good now.  Had as much of myself as I can take.”

“Coming back inside for a drink,” he asked, eyes strangely hopeful.

Nico hummed quietly.  “Not really feeling the bar scene right now,” he admitted, glancing up into the inky black sky.  “I might go for a walk?  I’m not really sure, to be honest.”

Will cleared his throat, drawing the attention back down to his face.  “I get off in half an hour… if you’re interested in some company.  We could… go somewhere, or find something to do.  Or even just go back to my place, if that doesn’t sound too boring.”

“You know,” he replied, feeling the smile begin to pull at his mouth.  “Boring sounds pretty nice right now.”

Will’s face lit up with joy, skin practically glowing with a soft kind of warmth as he returned the smile with ease.  “Alright, let me finish up counting tips and tidying up some.  I’ll meet you here when I’m done?”

“Sounds good.”

He offered another gentle smile, then hurried off back inside. 

Nico propped himself back against the cold brick wall, resigning himself to wait it out in the quiet darkness that once again wrapped cold arms around his body, sinking deep into his bones.  After all, the silence wasn’t so deafening when you knew it wasn’t always going to last.  Lighting another cigarette, he inhaled the taste of bitter resolve.  Perhaps it wasn’t half bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Nico doesn't even need to work, and yet he still does that, of all things.  
> One, two more?  
> I don't quite know for certain until I write it.
> 
> But comments, they're lovely, and they make me want to continue. :)


	5. The Feelings of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he’d heard that voice split through the fog that clung hard to the crevices of his mind, he didn’t even realize the extent to which it unraveled his very being. It was like a light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel, but the darkness was so all consuming, that it had begun to seem comfortingly preferable to harsh white and blinding radiance.
> 
> He'd scoffed, turned away, unknowing that all along, a little piece held firm inside of him, working through the coils that held fast to his insides, dissolving them so steadily, that by the time it was glaringly obvious he was hollowed out now, devoid of the shackles that kept him prisoner; he was also so filled up with something new and strange that it didn’t feel quite as stifling as before.
> 
> It was actually kind of soothing, in an aching sort of way, pulsing in time to the erratic beat of his heart.

If he was to look back on everything, pinpoint the exact moment things had changed beyond what he could call normal expectancy; he would guess it was somewhere in those few fleeting weeks that wrapped around him like a warm embrace, held just a little too tightly before it ended in aching cold release and a sense of emptiness.

It began as a soft whispering sigh, fluttering over the deep expanse of his mind; feather-light touches gentle as they delved further into his psyche, unknowingly ingraining themselves past the point of no return.  It was calm and light, almost pleasant at times, so he didn’t hold back, didn’t prevent it from continuation.  Didn’t know how horribly it would consume his very being.

The effect it had over him wasn’t even realized in its entirety until he found himself without the other for long enough that all of the happiness he'd begun to acquire slowly turned to bitter longing in his stomach, and he wasn’t quite sure whether or not to feed the desire more, or push it down until it consumed him.

He chose the former, of course, which only seemed to exacerbate the issue further, drawing him even deeper down the rabbit hole; until it was hard to know which thing came first, the thirst for something more than fleeting looks, lips curved upward in amusement, and tender touches; or the pang that reverberated around and throughout his body whenever he strayed too far for too long, like an itch you couldn’t stand to ignore, but also couldn’t quite scratch.

It grew, and it festered, dissatisfied with anything else until the needs were met with hours of absorption, sated enough to spend another twelve or so hours in peace, until he’d be forced to dive in again. 

When he hesitated too long, anxiety ripped claws of toxic restlessness through his intestines, until hands shook so hard it was impossible to even light his own cigarettes.  He settled for using the toaster, at least it was an ever static device, chained to the wall by means of electrical rope.

It was impossible to work in such a state, too wound up to pretend everything was alright anymore, too on edge to submerge himself into the vast churning wave of limbs and eyes and teeth, expecting things he didn’t know how to give further, clawing for pieces he’d already left behind. 

So he didn’t, stayed far away until the weak last gasp of the evening's dying light gave way to inky blackness, and it was assured no one save the two of them would be found; him, leaning against the cold surface of a sea of red, encased in a cloak of shadow; whilst the other stood, bathed in the soft glow of orange-hued light, face turning from surprise to happiness, to something akin but softer.

He’d scream if he knew it would help the matter, but as it stood, the only thing that quieted the terrible gnawing that wrought him with so much pain and uncertainty and anguish was the calm blue haze, a gentle bronze fire, and the sound of the ocean he heard underlying the tone of a voice so warm and sincere, he wasn’t even sure it was inherently real.

The first time he’d heard that voice split through the fog that clung hard to the crevices of his mind, he didn’t even realize the extent to which it unraveled his very being.  It was like a light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel, but the darkness was so all-consuming that it had begun to seem comfortingly preferable to harsh white and blinding radiance.

He'd scoffed, turned away, unknowing that all along a little piece held firm inside of him, working through the coils that held fast to his insides, dissolving them so steadily that by the time it was glaringly obvious he was hollowed out now, devoid of the shackles that kept him prisoner, he was also so filled up with something new and strange that it didn’t feel quite as stifling as before.

It was actually kind of soothing, in an aching sort of way, pulsing in time to the erratic beat of his heart.

So the long days passed, trapped in the small confines of his apartment, body wracked with pains he knew he could never cease on his own, waiting for the light to die down, for the evening to trickle in; and then he’d go and sit, waiting patiently for the golden boy and his mesmerizing presence, standing hours longer than was necessary, and lying with a smile when he assured it really hadn’t been all that long.

The looks he got in response were skeptical at best, but the topic was never pushed, neither one wanting to step beyond the safety of their strange protective barriers; the ones that said how far you could go before excessive emotion muddied the fragile crystal shell that encompassed the budding relationship they’d developed, steadily over the weeks since that first night, in that very alleyway.

Starting first as strangers, before they became acquaintances, and now, slowly morphing into the warm calm of friendship.

It was part of the reason he never gave into the feelings that buzzed just below the surface of his skin, never crossed the lines more than they already had before.  It was one thing to kiss a stranger, the emptiness behind those actions so easy to ignore when they didn’t eat you up inside. It was quite another to kiss a friend, to push past that point where you either continue to build up; or fizzle out entirely, losing everything you’d worked so hard to have.

He wasn’t ready to lose everything, not when it had become such a constant in his life that it was hard to recall what it all felt like before.

Will, too, seemed contented in their subtle nearness; the time spent conversing on the couch, sipping drinks Nico had never been the kind to consume, enjoying the way each laugh became comfortable in sound, each action slowly less and less thought out; until it was nothing more than two bodies acting and reacting in perfect time, all forethought thrown out the window, all insecurity cast to the wind.

It was beautifully simple.  Tragically easy.  Agonizingly safe. 

It couldn’t last, even if he tried to keep it frozen in that place, on the precipice of platonic and romantic, balanced shakily on a double-edged knife.  All good things are bound to change; and like all things, they too must one day end.

* * *

 

He waited in the place he was always expected, just out of reach of the streetlamp’s yellow-orange light, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes as the seconds ticked on slowly, the minutes all blurring from one into the next.

The sound of the door opening shattered the calm silence he’d already begun to detest, heart kicking up speed as he pushed from the shadows, meeting the other somewhere half inside, half outside the small steam of light now pouring out into the cold blackness.

“You can come inside and wait, you know.  Maybe have a drink, stay warm.  You used to enjoy coming into the bar,” Will chided, voice a gentle hum, eyes sparkling with happiness.

Lifting an arm in a shrug, he let it fall back down, halfhearted.  “I quite enjoy the silence outside.  It’s less chaotic, and I still don’t really feel much like the whole bar scene thing.”  It was mostly true, though the thing he didn’t feel much like doing was less about the bar and more about feeling exasperated by the patrons.

Will chewed his lip, humming low in response.  He looked like he wanted to say something, the hints of an emotion playing out on his face, but it died as soon as it had come, and he smiled instead.  “You could always just text me to come pick you up at home, you don’t need to wait outside in December.  Just because it hasn’t snowed yet doesn’t mean it isn’t still cold.”

“I enjoy the night, and I’m not deterred by cold.  I like it, in a way, better than heat.  It’s comforting.  Everything soft and warm happens because of cold; unlike heat, which is oddly lacking, considering how warmth is usually a good thing.  I find adding too much of something usually makes it less desirable than having just the right amount.”

Falling into step, they rode the short distance to Will’s condo in a bubble of comfortable companionship.  The conversation kept light and cheery, the mood soft and unimposing.

The second he stepped through the front door, he knew everything was going to change.  It was like a tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers, a hollow ache inside of his chest.  The skin on his face felt hot and cold, the way a frigid wind burns when it rips through your body, sinking deep into bones, fraying them with all the little cracks and breaks.

There was no turning back now, not that he’d run away if he could.

He succumbed to the sensations, allowing them to weigh him down as he fell onto the couch.  Even if the atmosphere grew heavier around the two, it still was welcoming and familiar, which made it all the more bearable, in the end.

Will handed him an opened bottle, taking his usual perch on the right side, back fitted against the crook of the armrest, one leg bent and resting along the cushions of the couch, while the other hung off lazily, leg stretched out, socked foot brushing slightly against his booted one.

“So,” Will murmured, taking a slow sip off his drink, resting it on his bent knee.  “How was your day?”

He shrugged.  “It was fine.  No different than yesterday, really.  How was yours?”

Will frowned slightly, eyes getting a far-off look.  “It was uneventful.  As it usually is on days that I work.”  He paused for a moment, seeming to mull something over.  “Go anyplace new?”

“No,” Nico admitted, truthfully.  Mostly, he didn’t leave his apartment, except at night to meet up with the other before returning there once more.  Luckily, the internet made never leaving the house all the more possible, even for simple things like groceries.

“You really did nothing, all day long,” Will asked, tone softly probing, even as his gaze looked slightly unsure.

“Nope.”

Releasing a long sigh-like breath, he chewed his lip for a moment.  “You haven’t been by the bar in over a month.”

Nico nodded in confirmation, knowing all too well just how long it had been.  “I know,” he replied, voice light, ignoring the implications of the statement.

Will seemed to press on, regardless.  “You know, you don’t have to stay away if you don’t want to.  I don’t mind what it is that you do, I’ve said as much.”  He turned then, setting the bottle down on the glass side table, before sitting properly along the back of the couch.  “I’d rather know you’re safe nearby than somewhere I don’t know where you are.”

He smiled at that, slightly amused by the idea that he’d actually take his business somewhere else out of fear.  Taking a long drink of beer, he finished the bottle, setting it down by his feet.  “I’m not going anywhere else, Will.  I’m actually at home all day, by myself.”  He hummed then, a soft chuckling sound.  “Safe and alone,” he added, to make it perfectly clear.

Will’s brow furrowed, lips pursing.  “It’s been over a month, though,” he mumbled, sounding a little like a broken record as he stared hard at the fabric of his pants, stretched tight over his knee.

Nico chuckled again, this time a little louder.  “I can tell time,” he teased, catching the way the other’s mouth turned down at that.

Finally, he turned to him, searching hard for something.  “You haven’t made money in close to two months, and you’re not concerned in the least?”  His tone wasn’t accusatory, more softly concerned, and it pulled awfully at Nico’s heart.

“No,” he replied, slowly, drawing out the word a little longer than was necessary.  It hung between them, heavy with unspoken meanings, though neither made an effort to break the echoing silence.

Shifting awkwardly, Will ran a hand through his golden hair.  “Why,” he breathed, barely audible, even from the distance of less than a foot between them.

Nico kissed the back of his teeth gently with his tongue, the resulting sound softly exasperated.  “I just haven’t felt much like doing more than I have to.”

“I meant why aren’t you concerned.  How are you going to live without money?”

“I…”  He stopped, faltering in his response.  With a deep breath, he pushed forward.  “I have some.  Quite a bit, actually.”

Will frowned, tilting his head to the side.  “For how long, though?”

“Forever, if I wanted to.  Less if I decided to do something stupid like buying a yacht, but since I don’t really have much that needs paying, I could easily never work again.”  Will’s look turned strangely confused, so he decided to elaborate.  “My parents and sister died when I was fourteen, and I got all of their money.”

The silence grew for so long, he wasn’t sure it was possible to fill all of the empty spaces it left.

The hand on his was warm and comforting, drawing his attention away from his lap, up into soft azure eyes.  They sparkled with kindness; gentle, and a little sad.  “If you had money, why did you need more?”

He knew it wasn’t so much a question about the money, as it was about how he earned it.  “I already told you, it’s easy work. I like to pay for myself.”

“Nico,” he sighed, features taking on a heartbroken expression.  “Lots of things are easy to do, and they don’t involve degrading yourself to keep afloat.  I understand the logic when it’s all you can do to get by, but you could do anything you wanted if money isn’t an issue.  So why, then?”

Shrugging, he responded in a quiet hum.  “I don't deserve better. I never have.”

It took a moment to realize the warm sensation flooding his body was the heat of Will suddenly tight against him, having pulled him closer so their chests were flush together, wrapping arms around his middle and lacing a hand up and into hair to cradle the back of his head. 

He blinked in slow surprise, arms stiffened and crushed to his sides as Will’s breath tickled silky hot against the skin of his neck and ear.

“Please don’t say that,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Nico felt his heart skip a beat, relaxing into the embrace, awkward though the position might be, as it twisted his spine painfully.  “But it’s true,” he replied, trying to remain level and calm.

It was true, even if in the beginning it hurt to be treated so lowly.  It didn’t hurt the same now, not after he’d learned to expect nothing from anyone else.  What mattered was merely his own opinion, and he never fooled himself into thinking he was more than a perfect act, more than a pretty face.

“No,” Will choked, pulling back until their eyes locked, and he caught the pain etched deep into the blue.  Sliding hands around to cradle Nico’s jaw tenderly, he shook his head for emphasis, swallowing hard.  “You are so much more deserving than you allow others to treat you, and it physically hurts to watch you put yourself through it.”

Lips parted in surprise, breath catching in his throat.  “Why do you care,” he asked, voice so low it was practically a whisper.  “It doesn’t affect you.  It only affects me, and I’ve already told you I don’t let it get to me like that.”

Dipping down, their foreheads met gently, Will’s breath a sweet warmth on his face.  “Because I think you deserve _everything_.”

“Why,” he whined, wincing when his voice cracked.  “I don’t understand how you can think so highly of me when I’ve never given a reason that you should.  I’m not worth the trouble worrying about me, I’m just not.”

“Because I _care_ about you, Nico.”

Closing his eyes, he felt the sting as tears began to well there.  “Please, _don’t._   Whatever idea you have, it’s not true.  I don’t feel things like you do, I don’t work properly.  I’m broken, and you can’t fix whatever is wrong.  And I can’t… I _won’t_ let you suffer because of me.  _Please, Will_.”

He hummed softly in response, stroking thumbs across the bones in Nico’s cheeks.  “Why,” he asked, tone gentle and kind.  He smelled like coffee, sweat, and cloves; a spicy mixture that was somehow calming.  “Why does it matter if I get hurt in the process?  What is it to you?”

“I don’t want to be responsible for something like that.”

“Why,” he asked again, speaking the words like a secret.

Nico swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.  “Because.”

Will smiled, pulling back to search across his obsidian eyes.  “Because… why?”

Brow furrowed, he groaned, letting eyes slip shut once more.  “Because I can’t treat you like that.”

“Why?”  The words were warm across his face, like a summer breeze blowing in the scent of blooming flowers; soft, and silky, and agonizingly sweet.

“Because I care about you too much.”

Lips pressed against his own, delicate, and smooth, and deliciously sure.  Hands slowly slipped their way back up to tangle in his hair, teeth grazing along his bottom lip until he opened his mouth with a quiet gasp.  The kiss was slow, though somehow demanding; completely gentle, but also rough.  It shot electricity through him, from his head, straight through to his toes, and he'd never before craved anything so much as he craved that feeling right then.

Will broke off, breathing hard.  “If you’re worried about hurting me, then stop hurting yourself.  Otherwise, there’s nothing you can do that will ever compare to how it feels to sit back and watch you suffer, ignoring the things I feel for you, pretending it doesn’t matter, so long as it keeps you coming back to me.  You deserve love, Nico.  Don’t ever think you don’t deserve me, or that I don’t deserve _this_ , right here, with you.”

“I don’t even know if I can,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze low as he chewed roughly on his lower lip, biting the skin close to bloody.

Will smiled, excruciatingly bright, and far too tender for the topic at hand.  “Are you so sure you don’t already,” he asked, scooting back along the couch and pulling at Nico gently until his body acquiesced and followed, nestling itself between Will's legs, hovering just enough that they still had some semblance of space.

“Maybe,” he sighed, feeling unsure at the moment.  “But… I can try?  I don’t promise anything.”

Humming in amusement, Will wrapped arms and legs around him, locking his body in place, shifting around until they were face to face, chest to chest, thigh to thigh.  Running fingers through his hair, he smiled again, tilting his head until their lips sat desperately close.  “That’s all I ask," he breathed, blue eyes dancing with light. "A chance to love you like you deserve." Lips met his once more, kissing fervently and with so much emotion that it made Nico's head spin.

Will’s hands were soft, never too warm, always perfectly permeable.  They explored tenderly, ghosting over the sensitive skin along his sides, stroking softly over the bones in his hips, along the arch of his back, down to the curve of his ass; never once demanding, never once unkind.  His mouth was inviting, never greedy, never asking for more than Nico could give in return.  They moved in sync, hands twisting up into hair, or down into clothing fabric, pulling closer until there was hardly a breath between their curves and angles.

It was slow and precise, delicate and gentle, safe and warm; and whenever Will pushed a little further, delved a little deeper in exploration, he always left everything a little better than the state in which he found it, building things back up piece by shattered piece.

It was light, and downy, and calm, and nice.  All of the things he'd already come to associate with Will; all the little nuances that stacked together, making the perfect whole.  He gave, and Nico happily took, allowing warm longing to settle deep inside of his chest, allowing himself to blossom under the loving strokes and rubs and caresses that made him shiver with uncontained delight.

For once, the feeling of being touched wasn’t disgusting.  For once, he found himself wanting even more, happily reciprocated, in time and pace with whatever he was willing to do, however far he was willing to go.  It was different from all he had known, in the smallest of things, in the biggest of ways.  Each touch a silent promise, each kiss a whispering affiance.

So when they finally fell back upon the mattress, limbs entwined so comfortably it was hard to decipher who was who; Nico gave into every last emotion, released the flood of things he'd kept down in order to keep from ever hurting even more, and reveled jovially in the sensation of bare flesh pressed warm against his chest, of lips kissing soft and loving trails across every exposed inch of his being, of feeling so wrapped up in someone else, that nothing more need matter.

He was full, almost to the point of bursting, and nothing else had ever been so right that it cut away all feelings of doubt left trapped inside his mind.

A smile pulled at his lips; the steady rise and fall of Will’s sleeping chest fitted snugly against his back, arm curled around his waist, fingers reaching up to press delicately over his heart in an unconscious show of affection.  It was secure and pleasant, wrapped up in the thin white sheet, nestled sheltered in the other's embrace.  At that moment he was happy.  In that place, he was right where he'd always hoped to be.

Nothing could ever be better than the taste of rapturous contentment, dancing soft across his tongue in a wash of perfect belonging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole a line from a Mountain Goats song. I'll love you forever if you know which and what song. Seriously, I'd probably write a whole fic in appreciation of the knowledge. :3
> 
> Next one is the last one.  
> Yeah, I didn't elaborate the intimate things, because I didn't really do it with the other parts?  
> I mean, I could have probably touched a little more, made it more obvious, but I didn't begin writing it to have sex scenes, and all I cared about is the stark contrast of love and possessive greed.  
> The next chapter is both a prequel, as well as an epilogue.  
> You'll see.
> 
> Comments, what can I say except leaving them makes me happy enough to continue writing, so doing it is always appreciated. :)


	6. The Prequel in the Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had already written the Epilogue part, and since I always wanted to write from Will's perspective, I decided to add it in a prequel, which takes place in the first part. :D

The first time he laid eyes on the exotic man sitting just out of reach behind the bar, his heart skipped a beat in his chest.  It was the middle of August, summer nights still sweltering even after the moon rose high up in the sky, painting the world in her milky silver glow.

The first thing he thought was that he’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life; and as obsidian eyes flicked his way, lips curved up in a gentle, playful kind of smile, he knew he’d never again feel completely satisfied until he drank in every last bit of knowledge that he could acquire concerning the dark stranger.

“What’ll it be,” he asked, voice betraying no hint of the waves of anxiousness he felt barraging the inside of his chest, tearing hard against his bones, threatening to spill out of his mouth.

Dark eyes bore into him, analyzing, calculating, before they seemed to come to some kind of strange conclusion, softening into something light and far away.  “Vodka martini, extra dry, three olives,” he murmured, voice like smooth silk; soft and supple, floating up in a whirl of melodic genteel, almost rehearsed in its delicate rhythm.

Nodding his head, he got to work, setting the glass down atop a paper coaster, sliding it gently into view.  “Your drink,” he smiled, wiping his hands off on a dry rag, stuffing it back inside the gap between the bar and cupboards.  “If you need anything else, just ask.”

“Will do,” he hummed, spinning the skewered fruit through the liquid, before lifting the glass to take a long sip.  His eyes remained fixed on a spot somewhere off to the right, features composed and calm and stunning.  It was the picture of silent restlessness, saying just enough to invite attention, but not too much so as to appear needy. 

Either way, it had his breath catching in his throat; admiring the way lips sat in a gentle kind of pout, hand cupping the glass like it was a delicate rose of some sort, emitting the quietest of whispered sighs from time to time, the cherry on the top.

He didn’t ask for another martini, didn’t need to when others offered to pay for the next round of things.

When Will left that night, his chest felt a little emptier; the imprint of black eyes still flittering across the recesses of his mind.  They shone so brightly whenever he’d caught a glance that he was almost fooled into believing the lie that projected outward.  Underneath the flawless grace, the meticulous movement and the light and airy laughter that floated past his ears, he saw the truth; and it broke and fascinated him at the same time.

If he never saw those eyes again, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but it very well might torment him forever.

It wasn’t an issue. Each night he came back, perched delicately on the same lopsided seat, ordering the same exact martini, extra dry, three olives; and sipped it slowly, looking more like a lazy panther awaiting an innocent antelope to wander a little too close to its perch upon the tree branch than the men who flocked to him ever looked like the hunter over the prey they clearly were.

It was like a strange alluring dance, fitted to accommodate each partner in their varying styles and differences; a lie that screamed you aren’t the first, come, see if you’ll be the last; yet it held the same underlying theme, and that theme always spoke to him the loudest of all.  It was an ode to complacency, a ballad of egotistical desire; and he wore it like a second skin, breathing life into the hollow spaces of his soul, which was somehow sadly beautiful to witness. 

There was no shame in those fluid movements, no hesitance or worry or distress.  He knew his own worth, didn’t need another to validate his actions, probably wouldn’t listen even if they did.  He walked with an air of sophistication, but in the end, it was all just an act.  Like a mask worn so long you’d forgotten exactly what lay beneath; he, too, appeared not to remember that the character was nothing more than a façade, that there was still someone else inside of those dancing eyes, begging for someone to come and free him.

Will never wanted anything more in his life than to know the person he caught in glimpsing passes; in the brief curve of downturned lips before they regained their dazzling brilliance, in the somber silence and contemplative eyes reserved for the intermission between each new and extravagant act.

He wanted to know, and he wanted to see that person’s true smile, the way it might slip across his pink mouth accidentally, the way his laugh might sound when it wasn’t trying to mimic pleasantries, the way features would appear as they changed from uncertainty to surprise, to delight, even to uncontrollable sadness; raw and painful and real.

And he knew, in those moments, that he would do anything to make it happen; give anything to see it come to fruition.

The fascination grew by the day, until it was an aching need, sinking deep into his bones, reverberating around him from within.  If he could just reach out, touch the boy’s interest enough to be looked at more than through, leave an imprint of some kind that would never be forgotten, then he could finally take a breath, finally live for something more than the sound of his name spoken soft from the other’s tongue, for more than that terribly growing and wanting need.

And yet, who was he to think himself worthy of acknowledgment, what did he have to offer the sultry stranger, so much like a walking daydream brought to life, dancing languidly before his eyes to the music of his very soul.

He was no one special, just a normal boy with a jaded life; who saw the kindness in walking away too soon and without reasons, the sadness hidden deep behind the sound of a twinkling laugh, the earth-shattering fear in trying too hard so you might never know failure.

The best he could accomplish was a soft hello, a whispered goodbye, and a warm smile.

And so for weeks he sat back, contented enough by the fact that the stranger, whose name he’d never had the courage to ask, was also content enough to never drop his act.  So long as that smile contained even half the amount of truth he’d wanted it to, there was no reason he could think of to alter the dynamic from unknown to acquainted.

Perhaps it was selfish, in the end, to watch from afar; never knowing more than the little things he picked up through observation.  In this way, he could keep that dark creature at an arms-length, never having to worry about the chance that things might one day come to an end, or stagnate, or refuse to move beyond whatever he hoped they could possibly ever be.  It was safer, and that was fine.

The day finally came where he saw the smile shift, falter for longer than a brief second, and it somehow felt like a slap in the face.  The time between comings and goings grew ever in length, until sometimes he disappeared for an hour or more, before slinking back inside to finish the remainder of his drink.

Some nights he never came back at all, and that, too, felt like a horrible weight upon Will’s chest; like it was somehow his fault for seeing the gentle deterioration and doing nothing in response.

So when he slipped out the back one crisp autumn night, the cool air wrapping itself like a blanket around him, he never expected to see the wistful longing playing out soft on the other’s face.  It was so much different from the other things he had seen; the quiet predatory animal, the smooth and bubbly actor, the empty and cracked individual beneath them all.

It gave him pause, wondering if all along he’d read the signs wrong, if all along, the one thing the other wanted most was just to be noticed as a person, not as a glittering work of art; with pocks, and scars, and ugly inconsistencies, making up the beautiful complicated whole; as boundless as the ocean, as complex as the vast reaches of infinity.

And even as their interaction was cut short, even as he watched the stranger slink off into the smoky blanket of the night, predatory laugh echoing in the quiet spaces left behind; Will couldn’t help the soft and happy smile that steadily curled its way onto his mouth. Because he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is what it felt like to want something for more than just yourself.

It was the gentlest kind of warmth, radiating from a place deep inside his chest.  He knew he’d do anything in his power to make that boy know how wanted he truly was, how loved he could potentially be.

* * *

 

Lips turned upward in a beautiful smile, dark eyes dancing in the soft orange glow of the bar.  Bending low over the mahogany surface of the counter, he dropped his voice to a quiet hum, warm and rich and filled with a sexy kind of vibration.

“What’ll it be,” he purred, elbows kissing the wood, arms crossing to grip both of his biceps in a lazy kind of fashion. 

The man’s brown eyes sparkled like liquid honey, face a mask of wild longing.  “Whatever you want,” he murmured back, gaze flicking down to assess Nico from head to foot.  When it made it back to his pouty lips, a predatory grin spread across his face.  “But only if you’ll agree to have one with me.”

“You’re buying,” he teased, cocking his head to the side and biting the edge of his lip seductively.

The man gave an enthusiastic nod, swallowing hard.  “S-Sure, whatever you want.”

Nico chuckled, low and deep, sitting upright with a lazy kind of fluidity.  Eyelids dropped low, watching the man through a fan of lashes.  “Alright, I’ll be right back,” he breathed, swishing hips as he sashayed off down the length of the room to grab a pricey bottle of imported cognac.

Dust had collected along the glass, deep caramel liquid still reaching the lip of the neck.  It had yet to be opened, but he’d always wanted to try it.  At twenty dollars a shot, he never bothered, until now.

Warm breath tickled the skin of his neck, a shiver of anticipation running down his spine.  Turning, he gazed up into a radiant glow of brilliant azure eyes.  “What are you doing,” the other asked, voice laced with soft amusement.

A humming sound emanated from his throat.  “Pouring two shots of the D’Usse,” Nico replied, grinning wickedly, resisting the urge to press himself against the other. 

Will laughed like a cool breeze, smelling of cinnamon and mint and a hint of something sweet.  “You know you’ll be less likely to get a tip if you force the nice man to spend forty dollars on two shots.”

“Ah, but who needs tips when you can get a shot of fine cognac instead?  Besides, how else am I ever going to know what it tastes like?”  He purred it out like a challenge, enjoying the way Will’s lips quirked up at the edges, how he stepped a little closer than was considered only friendly, how his own face had to tilt up to continue meeting those sparkling eyes.

Cocking his head gently to the side, his mouth broke out into a lazy grin.  “Are you trying to get out of buying dinner next time, because it sure sounds like it.”

Gasping in mock offense, he couldn’t keep his own face from returning the smile, biting his lower lip to stifle the laugh bubbling up his throat.  “Why that would be simply devious, I’d do nothing of the sort.”

Will moved closer, hand reaching out to grip the bone in his hip, tugging it forward gently, until their thighs pressed nicely.  “Really now, because I seem to recall that ever since we agreed the person who makes more in tips buys, there hasn’t been a single week where I don’t end up being the winner.”

Nico nodded solemnly, turning his lip out in a pout.  “I know, it’s just so unfair that no one likes me as much as they like you.”

Smirking, Will dipped his face closer, warm breath tickling skin in feather light touches.  “And, I seem to recall that before that deal, you always made almost double.”

Heat rolled from the other in dizzying waves, Nico's lips parting gently as his tongue turning heavy in his mouth.  Swallowing thickly, he gave an imperceptibly light shrug.  “Coincidence,” he breathed, watching as the blue gaze dipped low to his mouth, dragging back up in an agonizingly slow manner.

When it locked back onto his dark eyes, they burned with blinding light, melting and swirling and rippling with emotions, all of them safe and kind and honest.  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” Will murmured, lips sitting soft and inviting, beckoning him closer, as each shallow breath mingled with his own.

“If you two are just going to flirt every shift, I’m going to separate you, possibly stick you on opposite schedules.”

Pulling back, they turned in unison, catching the curve of a smile, and the twinkle in mischievous blue eyes.  His eyebrow was cocked, arms crossed over his chest, but the pose was less reprimanding, bordering on the amused.

Will laughed, warmth flooding Nico’s veins as ears drank in the sound he’d never soon grow tired of.  “Sorry, Cecil,” he hummed, swiping a hand through his golden hair.  “We’ll attempt to rein it in a little.  Not that I believe your empty threats, you know it’s easier for us to just come in and leave together.”

Flicking his gaze between the two of them, he sighed, looking up at the ceiling like it might hold all the answers to his problems.  “You’re lucky you two are my best workers.  Just tone down the lovey-dovey boyfriend stuff, save it for your breaks.  The customers are waiting, go make them spend more money.”  He walked off chuckling, making his way to the office area of the building.

Blue assessed him once more, lips catching his in a quick brush of softness that managed to shoot warmth all the way down to his toes.  Even after a year, it would never cease to make his heart flutter around like a wild bird trapped in a small cage.

“Break in an hour,” Will asked breathlessly, glowing like a sunrise on a warm summer morning.

Smiling dazzlingly in response, he gave a short nod.  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

With a wink, he sauntered away, the slow swish of his hips meant to entice.

The bottle in his hands grew a little too heavy, so he set it back on the shelf, pulling out a cheaper, though still moderately expensive bottle of whiskey.  Pouring two shots, he brought it back to the patiently waiting man, offering an apologetic grin along with.

“Sorry for the wait, the boss wanted to speak with me,” he murmured, placing an elbow on the bar and resting his cheek on his fist.

Honey brown eyes blinked rapidly, a pink flush spreading like wildfire across his tan face.  “Oh, that’s okay.  It really wasn't long, and I don't mind. Well, cheers,” he hummed, lifting one of the shots out to be reciprocated with a gentle clink.

The taste of whiskey was something he’d probably always dislike, even with the woody-apple aftertaste coating his tongue.  He smiled despite that, cocking his head to one side.  “Can I get you anything else,” he asked, dropping his tone back to a gentle, smooth sound.

“Sure, how about a whiskey sour.  How much do I owe you for everything?”  Pulling open his wallet, he leafed through large bills.

Humming in amusement, Nico gave a one-armed shrug.  “Eight for the sour, shots are on the house for the wait.”

Eyes went wide for a moment, eyebrows shooting up to kiss the ends of the bits of fluffy dark hair hanging low on his forehead.  Hanging over a fifty, he smiled warmly.  “Keep the change, then,” he murmured, gaze going slightly glassy as it assessed him once more.

Nico clasped the bill between his pointer and middle finger, slipping it into the pocket of his apron; a habitual motion leftover from the cigarettes he'd recently quit.  “Much obliged,” he purred back, offering his own dazzling smile in response.

The man tripped over his own feet while he tried to walk away, allthewhile watching Nico with a longing sort of gaze.  He’d be back, the hunger in his features said he was bent on winning more of Nico’s attention for as long as possible.

Another smile curled his lips, cashing out the change, before adding an extra twenty for the shots he’d given out for free.  Even without the extra money, he was well on his way to earning more than Will this week; which really wasn’t all too horrible, considering Will’s idea of dinner out was the same cheap diner right down the street from their condo.  It may not be the fanciest place, but the food was still pretty excellent, and it made Will beam brighter than the sun, so he tolerated it; even if the French place across town that he normally picked for them was far superior.

A woman sat down at the bar, giving him an appreciative once over, blue eyes sparkling bright.  She beckoned him forward, curling her finger with a coy smile, fluttering long eyelashes uselessly. 

A smirk pulled at his mouth, and he sauntered up, elbows kissing the surface of the wood as he leaned in tantalizingly close.

“What’ll it be,” he asked, feeling like a broken record, but refusing to care.

It was a gift, charming people.  He treated it as such, never faltering in his ability to keep people coming back for more time and time again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was satisfying, both parts.  
> Hopefully all the little hints about their lives were caught,  
> As well as enjoyed. :)
> 
> I'm glad it's finally over, because while it was fun to write,  
> It's one less thing I need to worry about updating.  
> Though, if you want more, I might be able to be persuaded. 
> 
> Comments are the bees knees, and I never do not appreciate all the kind words, random chit-chats, and just anything anyone has to say. It keeps me writing far more than kudos do,  
> Not that I would ever scoff at those. :3  
> So go ahead and converse. :D


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